Have you ever been in an old house and seen the shadows? Not the dark shadows in the corner of a creepy old house, but rather the shadows that appear in the noon sun. The place where the pictures hung, the wall that the bed rested against and where the bureau stood. I have seen it in several circumstances and wondered about the former inhabitants. Shadows left there either due to years of cigarette smoke, a wood burning stove or simply lack of dusting. Once the space has been cleared there is still an impression that is present where everything used to be.
Years ago, my husband and I toured a historic house in the Louisiana on River Road outside of New Orleans. The historians associated with Laura Plantation left several rooms empty for visitors to see the shadows left by the furniture. It created an eerie effect even in daylight and left the sightseer wondering about life within the house.
I am sure my grandmother’s house left some of the same impressions. She lived in that Lexington, Kentucky bungalow from the 1960s until 2003 or so when she moved in with my parents for the last two years of her life. Grandmama was a packrat. When she died I was already pregnant with my first child and not in much condition to help my mother sort through and pack up the house. We attended the funeral and shuffled though a few odds and ends, but really my help was minimal. I made one more trip after my first son’s birth to Kentucky. I was already pregnant with our second son so again not much help between tending to a baby and being told not the lift heavy things. My Granddaddy had a workshop in the basement that was very organized at one point with nails and screws sorted into baby jars that lined the shelves. He died way too young, nearly 20 years before her death and she didn’t have the energy or heart to do anything except pile stuff on top of more stuff within her house and in the basement. It took my mother about three years to clear out the house and it was like an archeological dig. I can’t even imagine the daunting task and all the shadows left behind.
One can only hope that when we do leave this place there is something of significance that loved ones can hold on to. Someone may move into your residence after you leave and wonder about you and all of your shadows.
Friday, March 20, 2009
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
Bookmobile
I think in images and had almost forgotten this one until I climbed on board a Bookmobile again several years ago, after a 20+ year hiatus. If I could paint, I would depict this image, but for now I am just left with the words to describe it.
Growing up, the bookmobile use to park at the end of our cul-de-sac in the dusk of summer. My mother loved books so she would drag me down to the bottom of our steep hill to climb aboard. I remember the scene perfectly now and often think of it as a postcard. We would hear the engine approach then cut off and down the hill we would walk to the immense bus, with its yellow lights streaming out from the inside. Those lights combined with the lightning bugs were our only guides. The sky was sinking into darkness and the trees were already outlined in black.
I think one of the only things I looked forward to as I boarded was seeing one or two of my neighboring best friends, Josh or Kevin aboard too. Once there, we would invariably find some books to check out and talk about Star Wars or some other childhood fascination. I was never a very good student, although I certainly tried hard enough. Reading did not come easily to me and I’m sure my mother was mystified at my lack of interest in books. A visit to the library was not a happy one for me. The only promise the bookmobile held for me was a chance meeting with my neighboring friends, and the lovely image of a lumbering bus in the warm, cool of a summer night.
Growing up, the bookmobile use to park at the end of our cul-de-sac in the dusk of summer. My mother loved books so she would drag me down to the bottom of our steep hill to climb aboard. I remember the scene perfectly now and often think of it as a postcard. We would hear the engine approach then cut off and down the hill we would walk to the immense bus, with its yellow lights streaming out from the inside. Those lights combined with the lightning bugs were our only guides. The sky was sinking into darkness and the trees were already outlined in black.
I think one of the only things I looked forward to as I boarded was seeing one or two of my neighboring best friends, Josh or Kevin aboard too. Once there, we would invariably find some books to check out and talk about Star Wars or some other childhood fascination. I was never a very good student, although I certainly tried hard enough. Reading did not come easily to me and I’m sure my mother was mystified at my lack of interest in books. A visit to the library was not a happy one for me. The only promise the bookmobile held for me was a chance meeting with my neighboring friends, and the lovely image of a lumbering bus in the warm, cool of a summer night.
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