Remembering in the First Person

"Everyone needs his memories.  They keep the wolf of insignificance from the door."
~ Saul Bellow

It is about an hours drive from Boston to the last place in which I lived (nestled in the southwest corner of New Hampshire) before departing for California.  I was lonely there but I've since learned that I am lonely every where and I did manage to take many photos and write numerous entries in blogs. On the day of this particular trek, I wanted to know if I still found comfort in that soft green sleepy retreat.

"Memory... is the diary that we carry with us"

~ Oscar Wilde

I stood just above the last place I lived.  It was softly raining.  In November this rain will annoy because it will likely turn to ice but in September is brings a simple chill and gentle mist to the air. I am able to see bits of the house from the road. Someone else is living there now.  They have a Jeep with off road tires and lights mounted on the roof rack and bully bar...I'm just a little envious.  They are prepared for winter and mud season, at least as far as their transportation is concerned.  Is the fire wood laid in? When I lived there, it was a three or four cord winter...and I ran out before the weather turned warm.  Oil and butane ordered?  So many things to plan for when living in the northeast.  Will those folks living there plow their own drive way?  Are they renting or did they buy the property?

"We each need to make peace with our memories.  We have all done thing that make us flinch."

~Surya Das

Up the hill and across the road is an old farm house.  It still stands empty.  It emptied a number of years ago.  The result of infidelity. He cheated, she found out.  The house was their summer place. He most especially loved the location.  She got the house in the divorce and specifically forbade him from coming on the property.  It broke his heart.  I imagine her saying, 'touche'.  Pay back truly is a bitch!  Once hers, she never used it again.  She left it to her daughter, that was in 2007.  I guess the daughter decided against rehabbing the house.  It has no central heating,  and many windows are broken.  I'm sure birds, raccoon, mice, and bats have done their fair share of damage.  I walked through it once.  Up stairs was a page help prisoner in time.  Her dress hug in the tiny closet and his prayer book opened to the last page he read there, all a headstone to a marriage that once worked.  If I had the funds, I would buy it, tear it down and put a ranch-style house on the foundation...a sign on the front door would proclaim "Beware all who enter here...".

"There are memories I chose not to live with, but we hangout at the same bar."

~ Robert Brault (rbrault@blogspot.com)

Back to the main road.  We make a quick stop at the stream that traverses the land there.  It is a nearly a soundless world.  The misty moment punctuated by the trill of chickadees and water passing through on its peaceful path.

I don't want to move back.  So more thinking is needed.  More thinking and more money.  It may drive me out of retirement.  I do know I love the near quiet.  But would like to be within eyesight of a neighbor.  Phone reception would also be nice.

" Memory is a crazy woman who hoards colored rags and throws away food."    ~ Austin O'Mally