So it’s a little weird living in the house I grew up in. The last time I “came home” to 616 Dehart Street I looked more like this… a warm ‘n’ cozy brand new bundle of Pance.
Awwwww. Let’s not even take note of how SKINNY my mother is after just birthing me. I recently commented as much to her and she flippantly replied, “Well, it was hard to zip up because my rib cage had expanded.” Ohhhhh OK, a fat rib cage… I guess that was enough to earn her due postpartum solidarity. Thank goodness motorized chairs didn’t exist at Wal-Mart yet.
Despite having spent most of my wonder years in these walls it still feels quite different. Sure – it’s a bit strange showering in the same bathtub where I learned how to shave my legs, cooking in the kitchen where I used to play *in* the cabinets, hanging grown-up art on walls where I once sticky-tacked rows and rows of NKOTB posters. But it’s cool. It’s been fun setting up house in a new way, a way that exudes now me vs. then me.
Last Friday I wheeled the giant garbage bin down to the end of my drive-way for pick-up. I have never performed this action in my entire life. The whole time I was thinking, “I have a garbage bin!!!” “I have a drive-way!!!” (Likewise, “I have a mailbox with a real flag thingy!” comes up daily). I started having an imaginary conversation with any random neighbor in my head,
“Morning, Bob! Yep, trash day again. Fine weather we’re having. Say ‘hi’ to the kids for me!” I was wheeling out the old and wheeling in the way most of America lives. I think I can get used to this in time. At least my house is across the street from the VT Airport, so every night I get to stare out at all the blinking runway lights. For now it’s enough to ease the ache for king-of-blinky New York City.
I fear scarier things are in my near future like mowing the lawn and shoveling snow… here’s hoping it’s all as much fun as it once was. I guess I should put “pink bucket” on my Wal-Mart shopping list.