“I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived… I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life.”
That’s the abbreviated version. I put down my iPhone. I left my camera packed so I couldn't hide behind the shield of my lens. I wanted to clear my head of heavy L.A. air, to face the open freeway with no reservations, to take chances my normally practical self wouldn’t, and to give life a reset of sorts.
And also to eat Jeni’s Ice Cream and deep fried Oreos.
When I saw the Columbus skyline from the plane window, my eyes welled up with tears. That also could have been because the kid behind was still kicking my seat four hours later. I couldn’t wait to put my feet down in my city. This was my selfish trip. I’d see family and friends, but it was mostly about me and my rental car and long drives. Drives to old haunts, new places, borrowed ones; I intentionally left out the blue ones.
I couldn’t avoid my hometown though. Nor did I really want to. The little place isn’t my favorite, but it is mine. So much about visiting my hometown is noticing how few changes have happened in the years since I’ve moved away. Main Street is still empty by 8pm. The marquee across from the gas station still displays birthday and anniversary wishes. The water still tastes the same. The familiarity is comforting; it’s a welcoming embrace that makes me feel like I just left yesterday.
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| Like I wasn't going to take any photos |
But this visit was about noticing the changes. In the past year, two of my uncles have died. Both of them lived within 50 yards of my parents. My aunt & uncle’s trailer that has stood for my entire life is gone. My grandmother’s house is torn down. I mean, that’s the place where I spent hours watching Matlock and Perry Mason in a miniature rocking chair while eating cereal (I was an odd child). The barn where my lambs slept and ate is dilapidated. The list of differences goes on and on.
Jarring. It was jarring. Home still smelled like ash trays and apple pie, but it wasn’t the same. And I don’t think it will be the next time I go back, and I have to be okay with that.
I go home about once a year, home being my Mom's house in Moss Bluff Louisiana. It is always strange to be back in her house. I had not returned to my Grandparent's home (after their death, my Uncle moved into it) till two years ago. They had been gone over 10 years and the idea of seeing that house again was painful. It turned out to be OK, nothing but happy memories. I hope that the trip helped to recharge your battaries and that there was more happy thoughts than sad ones.
ReplyDeleteI liked Columbo and Murder She Wrote and I thought the theme song to Magnum PI was the most awesome song ever.
ReplyDeleteSounds like you had quite a trip. It's always good to go home, even if things aren't exactly the way you remember them. (Kinda like time travel with a few of the settings off.) Unplugging is also good, but I'm glad you told us about your trip and shared some photos!
ReplyDeleteOh, Amy.
ReplyDeleteThis trip was going to be hard no matter what, I suppose.
My father died when I was 28. A year or so later, my mother sold the home I grew up in, the house she and my father had designed and built. I almost grieved harder for the house than I did for my dad. I still do. I can go back to the town but I can never go back to the home. We all have to deal with this in different ways.
Thank you all for the warm thoughts. It was a lot of change to absorb in a time already full of transition... but it's not necessarily a bad thing.
ReplyDeleteLife is all about changes, isnt it??? I have been away some time and just wanted to say hello..
ReplyDelete