someone very dear to me, inexplicably dear to me, said this to me recently.
he said, ‘let it go, the memories are in your head anyway’.
he was right. so right. as flipping always.
true, my heart breaks that soon, very soon, i won’t have a childhood home to run home to. not that I have very often of late. but, it’s the second to last step before i am forced to totally give up living, at least occasionally in my head, as a child.
but, emoness aside, he was right. so i thought i’d write this note and add to it as i can, about the memories that funny crazy messy noisy house holds for me
parties. i cant remember childhood ones. i remember the big and crazy ones we had. where cd players got broken and reputations grew and friendships flourished.
garry under the light with lisa
sarah and tracy reading the books, the start of it all, at 2am
the entrance window
you knocking and leaving notes on my window
room parties
wine on the wall
cupboard graffiti and how it got there
huddled in the garden
laughing laughing laughing
crying crying crying
watching them thatch the cabana. i was three.
christmas eve with the christmas stockings
moms ankle clicking as she walked down the passage
waking up with a cat on my head and my best friends strewn around the room. sometimes in the yard too. hahaa.
the kettle boiling. it was always boiling.
dinner time. the best time of the day. or the worst time of the day
3am tea with my dad
lying in bed and listening to him type all night
the couch in front of the tv
three ‘musics’ emanating from three rooms, worlds and enigmas – the passage cacophony
talking, talking, talking, it was never quiet
cigarette smoke, tea brewing.
mom’s cooking. as interesting as it got some days. (anybody who raises an eyebrow at UFOs knows why)
cuddled on the couch and reading.
“sweeties”
I’m crying now. I must stop for today. I miss you very much. But you’re in my head and my heart, not in the house.