When I was about five, we moved around the corner from Corliss St. to Ferris St. I was too young to remember any specific emotions attached to the move. The summer of my transition from elementary to middle school we moved from my Great Grandmother’s house on Ferris to what would become my childhood home, 111 Zerrcliff Lane. That was a life altering move. I often tell friends that everything that is good about me came from my Great-Grand. The house on Ferris St holds significant memories. There I was allowed to be a child. I knew a child’s place and it was the most free I’d felt in my life. It was also the only time during my childhood that I felt someone actually tried to make me a home and make me welcome at home!
At 111 Zerrcliff I leaned a very tough life lesson before I ever set foot into the house or laid my head on a pillow. Everything, I MEAN EVERYTHING is expendable if the person in charge does not value it. I quickly learned what expendable and “trash” meant. The move was particularly emotional as my sister and I had two dogs. I can remember the day we moved, crying as we looked out of the back window of that old blue Pontiac rounding the corner as we went on to our new adventure. We had to leave our pets behind.
At 111 Zerrcliff I leaned a very tough life lesson before I ever set foot into the house or laid my head on a pillow. Everything, I MEAN EVERYTHING is expendable if the person in charge does not value it. I quickly learned what expendable and “trash” meant. The move was particularly emotional as my sister and I had two dogs. I can remember the day we moved, crying as we looked out of the back window of that old blue Pontiac rounding the corner as we went on to our new adventure. We had to leave our pets behind.
SIDEBAR: Trigger, (yes, we wanted a horse) a Fox Terrier given to us a puppy to console us after the loss of our Mother. I can remember the morning he was given to us. My sister and I stumbling sleepily out of our room in footed pajamas, rubbing our eyes, responding to the whine and bark of our puppy! It was Christmas morning, a few months after our mother's death, my sister hadn't gone a day without crying (I've been told, until that day!). My Great Grand and Great Aunt kept telling us that Santa was going to bring us something special. (We thought it was a horse!) We jumped in joy before we fell to our knees scooping up our little curly ball of fur…. Sassy (another Fox Terrier) Trigger's wife (had a wedding and everything!) was given to us the following year.
While the new house had ENOUGH SPACE and A YARD, we (the dogs, my sister and I) would no longer be afforded the type of freedom we were used to. Our beloved pets would become outside dogs, they were not welcome into the house. They were expendable, regardless of the memories attached to them! So we had to leave them behind with the lady who (worked for my Great Grand) and who would now rent our old home.
I spent 8 years in a house that never felt like home. I spent 8 years learning the meaning of expendable and trash! I can remember my last night in that house, and how I vowed I would sleep on the street before I returned. As I aged I became a vagabond, a drifter. Drifters don’t attach themselves to anything or anyone, except of course other drifters. I lived in practically every Women’s Dorm on St. Mary’s campus. After I graduated and went to Grad School, then the work force I moved from apartment to apartment, condo to condo, house to house. At least once I moved after 6 months in the same community. I even moved from one apartment to a house before I finished unpacking my things! I have always “looked” for the next place to live. And with each move, I redefined expendable and trash…. I’ve thrown or convinced my partner to throw away significant items. “So what if it has memories. And? It’s trash. It doesn’t have any meaning. Really, by keeping that one thing you’re not going to remember _____________. Are you serious right now, we can get a new one!” I don’t think I told you my Grand got us a new puppy to go along with the new home.
Since Ferris St. in San Antonio, the only place that has EVER truly felt like home was my loft apartment on Bryan St. in Dallas, TX. There were glimpses of home at my ELM’s house on Boatwright Cove. In fact, if the mitigating factors that contributed to our general discomfort disappeared and if our relationship had been stronger at the time I would have gladly called it home. There was a Ferris St. safeness and welcomed feel to it.
I say all this to say. I have moved again. I have been in Austin 9 years. I have lived in two apartments in one community and two houses in two Suburban cities. The longest, my most recent address was three years. And while my house in Pflugerville was a dream, it didn't feel like home.... to either of us.
I spent 8 years in a house that never felt like home. I spent 8 years learning the meaning of expendable and trash! I can remember my last night in that house, and how I vowed I would sleep on the street before I returned. As I aged I became a vagabond, a drifter. Drifters don’t attach themselves to anything or anyone, except of course other drifters. I lived in practically every Women’s Dorm on St. Mary’s campus. After I graduated and went to Grad School, then the work force I moved from apartment to apartment, condo to condo, house to house. At least once I moved after 6 months in the same community. I even moved from one apartment to a house before I finished unpacking my things! I have always “looked” for the next place to live. And with each move, I redefined expendable and trash…. I’ve thrown or convinced my partner to throw away significant items. “So what if it has memories. And? It’s trash. It doesn’t have any meaning. Really, by keeping that one thing you’re not going to remember _____________. Are you serious right now, we can get a new one!” I don’t think I told you my Grand got us a new puppy to go along with the new home.
Since Ferris St. in San Antonio, the only place that has EVER truly felt like home was my loft apartment on Bryan St. in Dallas, TX. There were glimpses of home at my ELM’s house on Boatwright Cove. In fact, if the mitigating factors that contributed to our general discomfort disappeared and if our relationship had been stronger at the time I would have gladly called it home. There was a Ferris St. safeness and welcomed feel to it.
I say all this to say. I have moved again. I have been in Austin 9 years. I have lived in two apartments in one community and two houses in two Suburban cities. The longest, my most recent address was three years. And while my house in Pflugerville was a dream, it didn't feel like home.... to either of us.
to be continued....
No comments:
Post a Comment