I like to reminisce.
I can easily be taken back in time by a Journey song on the radio, the scent of Love’s Baby Soft perfume, the taste of a Twinkie, or a black and white rerun of I Love Lucy.
Today, it was the opening of a chapter from a current read by Brunonia Barry, The Lace Reader that sent me back in time:
“Old houses catch threads of the people who have lived in them…
For the most part, those threads stay quietly in place
until someone disturbs them.”
I closed my eyes and drifted back to the childhood home in our old neighborhood where my daughters grew up. We lived in that house for nearly two decades. Both girls were brought home from the hospital, carried up the steps, through the front door and they never called another house home until they left for college some 17 years later.
We no longer live in that house. We sold the house and kept the memories.
The girls have grown up and they have made new lives in homes of their own.
That childhood home still stands; it’s only a few miles from our new place. But in my heart, it’s much closer.
That front door they were carried through? I can still hear it slam as the girls ran in and out playing
and fighting with the neighborhood kids all day long… yep, ‘until the street lights came on.’
That slamming door drove me crazy then. The memory comforts me now.
Sometimes I turn down that old street, drive slow past that house, and I can see all those kids playing still. Except now, it’s only an old black and white sitcom, playing my mind.
Scene 1: Riding bikes, manning day-long lemonade stands, catching lightning bugs, trick-or-treating till bags overflowed, raking leaves to jump in, and rolling snowballs into snowmen .
Scene 2: Driving cars and leaving for college.
I like going back in time, hearing that front door slam just one more time. I can move forward much easier when I remind myself that the future is built on a very strong foundation.
I’ve heard enough screen doors slam to know that when one door closes
or slams, many, many, more open.