I bought a new phone last weekend and the people at the phone store wouldn’t wipe the old one until I checked it to make sure there was nothing on it I wanted, even though I insisted there wasn’t–I guess they’d had some run-ins in the past! And when I downloaded everything off it at home, it turned out there were a few photos I guess I took in a panic the last day in the house I grew up in, which may well have been Father’s Day 2017, shortly after my dad died. You can tell I was a bit alarmed because of the finger in the first one:
That’s my house! The new owners have completely redone it and probably made it nicer, but it was pretty nice before…
Front steps. The masonry was always crumbling and having to be redone, but they looked nice when freshly masoned.
View from the screened porch, which was essentially a room without walls or insulation. It was lovely in summer but couldn’t be used the rest of the year. Backyard and purple marten house seen outside.
My bedroom door, odd choice for a photo but as I say–panic. I went to McGill, but the bumper sticker dates from much prior–I think I got it in 7th grade. The Greenpeace sticker is a similar vintage. My doorknob did not match the ones in the rest of the house as the original broke at some point and had to be replaced.
A better choice of photo–the view from my bedroom window, an apple tree. This would be after it lost its blossoms but before it was in full fruit. Since it was so close to my window, my folks never sprayed or pruned it properly and the fruit wasn’t too good, but it sure was pretty.
Ok, now I can junk the phone. I won’t miss it. Of course, there was a time when I thought I wouldn’t miss that house either, but now I do.
2 Responses to “The House I Grew Up In”
Julia Zarankin says:
I love these photos, and I’m glad you have them (disembodied finger notwithstanding). Returning to an old (beloved) house is such a strange experience. Every time I go to Vancouver, I can’t help but drive past the house where I grew up and every time I cry and wonder why I do this to myself, but it still feels so very much mine and not mine at all at the same time. Or what’s most jarring is that in that moment, I feel like I’m two people at once: the present me and the past me. And OH GAWD, I think Marcel Proust said all of this infinitely better than I ever could (but then again, it took him 7 volumes!).
Man, it must be even harder for you, since you have to cross the continent to see your old place, Julia–just adds to the disconnect, I guess? (But prevents the urge to drive by all the time, which I’m feeling…)
Buy the book:
I love these photos, and I’m glad you have them (disembodied finger notwithstanding). Returning to an old (beloved) house is such a strange experience. Every time I go to Vancouver, I can’t help but drive past the house where I grew up and every time I cry and wonder why I do this to myself, but it still feels so very much mine and not mine at all at the same time. Or what’s most jarring is that in that moment, I feel like I’m two people at once: the present me and the past me. And OH GAWD, I think Marcel Proust said all of this infinitely better than I ever could (but then again, it took him 7 volumes!).
June 19th, 2019 at 9:07 pmMan, it must be even harder for you, since you have to cross the continent to see your old place, Julia–just adds to the disconnect, I guess? (But prevents the urge to drive by all the time, which I’m feeling…)
June 21st, 2019 at 12:31 amLeave a Reply