I went out to visit my dad a few days ago in my childhood home. Really I don’t go there often enough at all. He took the older two kids off for a walk with the dog, he loves getting them to himself now and again so it’s just me and Spence left hanging out!
It’s so quiet. My own house is super quiet too, probably more so actually because a busy road runs past dads so in the distance I hear traffic. But my house always has kids, tv, radio,something going. It’s lovely actually to sit there in the stillness. It’s a real long bungalow and the living area & kitchen are at the very back.
As a kid or even a teen with super imagination, I used to get chills here alone. I’d stay in the kitchen all evening rather than go down the long dark hall. I used to tell myself it was haunted and that an ancient Indian burial site was beneath the foundation. Ha. Not that many ancient Indians buried in Ireland over the years as it happens! Too much tv!
Funny. I lived here for 22 years and I’d struggle to write down 22 memories. You know, specific tales and events. That sounds like a challenge I might set myself actually. 22 tales of 22 years. I do remember some things pretty clearly…
Sitting up on the closed range next to my mom, none of us here are singers but Roy Orbison came on the radio singing ‘Crying’ and all of us belted it out but doing a purposefully bad job. Howling like distressed wolves “Cryeeyeeeing over youuuuu!” Funny memory! Nice to think of us, a family of four just carefree and having a silly giggle.
I recall the first time I was in charge of cooking dinner. My mum had gone to London for a weekend break with a friend and I can’t remember what age I was but I decided I could manage things all alone and I’d cook my dad his dinner for when he got home from whatever building site he was on that day. I can’t think back to the full contents but specifically I know I cooked Brussels sprouts, I never washed them,never pealed them just literally look these probably dirty sprouts from their net and boiled them for a while. They were probably still hard as bullets but my daddy ate them all! As I stood next to him I know a lot of emotion came over me, he was praising what a good girl I was to cook him dinner and I broke down in years. ‘I just miss mammy so much’.
Walking down thru the long hall way now, I have more memories than I first realized. I see the bathroom which I mentioned in my last post ( ‘What a start to the day!’ https://thechaosof3.com/2015/03/) where I recalled my dad getting locked in one evening when the key broke!
I stand at my old bedroom door. It’s like a little show room now. My dad has nice taste in decor for a single man. The room is white and neat with a pretty bed and pretty framed prints on the wall. God it was always such an utter bomb site when it was mine! Messy and all as it always was, I loved my bedroom. It was a haven. Cosy and familiar. Many many nights through my teens I couldn’t sleep, I lay awake writing poetry and short stories! I really put my whole heart on the page when I wrote. Pure untouched teenage angst! I used to climb in behind the closed curtains and sit on the window sill to see the stars or watch dawn break, hear the first bird song of a new day.
I enjoyed spending quiet time there that day. It was almost possible to see the small images of my brother and I, the games we played and the many fights and squabbles we had, the Saturday afternoons eating pizza and watching MacGyver or The A Team! I could almost hear our voices,noisy and laughing and giddy from the past. I should go home more often. It’s still home.