If I waited for perfection, I would never write a word.
- Margaret Atwood
Memories
For the last few weeks, I’ve been helping my mom and dad pack up their belongings from the home they’ve lived in for over 40 years. As you can imagine, there’s lots of things with lots of memories attached to them.
But what about the memories the house itself gave. You know what I mean, the things you can’t physically touch, but that are as real as those boxed up pieces? I have a lot of memories of houses I’ve lived in and they are just as precious to me as anything I could put in a box. There is one strange, peculiar memory of our first apartment that I love to tell. Let me take you back to the 80’s…
For 10 wonderful years, we lived in an upstairs apartment of a small 2 story white house that was set in back of the “big” house. Our apartment’s front door opened at the top of the stairs. In front of you was the bathroom; to the left was the living room; to the right was the bedroom, and the kitchen was at the very front of the house.
I stopped. “Jeff?” I called. But there was no more noise. I made my way in the dark to look out the front window, but saw no one. I then went to the back window and saw my husband standing in the shelter of the open garage waiting for the rain to let up before he ran in.
Who was so concerned about me? I never found out, and never expected to. I totally believe it was a guardian angel who blurted out those three words. I was never frightened the whole time I lived in that apartment, and although this was the strangest, that house gave me lots of great memories.
But what about the memories the house itself gave. You know what I mean, the things you can’t physically touch, but that are as real as those boxed up pieces? I have a lot of memories of houses I’ve lived in and they are just as precious to me as anything I could put in a box. There is one strange, peculiar memory of our first apartment that I love to tell. Let me take you back to the 80’s…
For 10 wonderful years, we lived in an upstairs apartment of a small 2 story white house that was set in back of the “big” house. Our apartment’s front door opened at the top of the stairs. In front of you was the bathroom; to the left was the living room; to the right was the bedroom, and the kitchen was at the very front of the house.
A Voice
My husband and I came home one stormy, rainy night, and he dropped me off before driving back to the garage. Even though it was dark, there was no problem seeing my way in because there was a very large security light outside. It really was unnecessary, because, as I’m sure you can relate, no lights were needed to walk around in a space you know like the back of your hand. As I opened the door to enter the apartment, for some reason, (probably the storm), the security light went out which made me stumble slightly. Immediately, I heard an older man’s voice say, “Are you alright?”
I stopped. “Jeff?” I called. But there was no more noise. I made my way in the dark to look out the front window, but saw no one. I then went to the back window and saw my husband standing in the shelter of the open garage waiting for the rain to let up before he ran in.
Who was so concerned about me? I never found out, and never expected to. I totally believe it was a guardian angel who blurted out those three words. I was never frightened the whole time I lived in that apartment, and although this was the strangest, that house gave me lots of great memories.
THE ART
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I remember that apartment!!
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