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| The end of a street on the point where we live |
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My parents are getting older. Going home to see them has taken on a deep poignancy I had not expected.
At their age, the property is a bit much for them, but they love being there.
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| Before turning into the driveway |
This backstop was once covered with white climbing roses. People who came over to play tennis would complain they couldn't see the ball.
It is not easy being 82, even if you look this good at 82.
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| Mom |
My Mom has such light aqua-grey-blue eyes they hardly show up in photos. And while the flesh changes the eyes do not, exact same eyes as when I was young.
And if it's not easy being 82, it is even harder being 99.
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| Dad |
Yet here is my Dad, out back, shucking the corn, and below, resting.
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| Dad and Mom |
How they manage, I don't know. But they do. They both have a a stubborn tenaciousness that amazes me, --and I'm not exactly untenacious.
The home they have created has always been comfortable and unpretensous. It's formed my taste more than I can say.
In the pic below I am taking my own picture against my favorite 60's wallpaper--which just happens to be in the first floor bathroom.
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| Me |
57 is a lot easier that 82 or 99, but this shows me that I still have enough vanity to know I need to do something about my teeth.
My other favorite wallpaper is in the back house, or what has always been called the barn, though why I do not know. When my parents were younger they would rent it out.
I think this is Schumacher. It's huge feathers, quills really, all scribbling away. I love the way Mom even had it put on the ceiling.
The main room has a cathedral ceiling. Most of the furniture and fabrics are in shades of brown and black. There are lost of animal motifs; somehow, am not sure how, the leopard print does not look tacky. My only gripe as a kid was that my shell and sea glass collection ended up in a case behind the game table.
As a kid it was a fun place to hang out in. A bunch of us could be out there and not have to worry about being too loud or wild.
When this all does become too much for my parents, this place, where so much of my consciousness was formed, will go away; just as, with time, my parents will. Funny, sad, and infinitely sweet, how precious the minute particulars of the ephemeral become.
