I sat on the raised fireplace hearth this morning and drank my coffee while I nibbled on some madeleines. We packed up the heavy furniture last night, and the only thing left are smaller pieces we can take with us on the back of a pick-up truck. It’s too soon to say goodbye.
The bitter coffee and the sweet cakes pretty much summed up my mood.
Last night, in the silliness that comes in the late hour after a long day, my son and I spoke loudly across the house to hear the echo. It was funny.
This morning as I look beyond the windows to the sunny day, I notice that what we’ve left behind is his great-grandmother’s trunk, filled to over-flowing with a lifetime, many lifetimes, of pictures. Of memories lovingly made and perhaps long forgotten. I call the dog and hear my voice echo again.
Everything is an echo as the memories of this room come back. When we moved in, there was a terrible baby blue carpet, freshly installed, so we kept it. There’s no accounting for taste in the 90s. It was the decade that spawned nylon track suits as acceptable attire. I know, I had a hot pink and teal one that I just unloaded at Goodwill.
We spent our first night in this home sprawled on that blue carpet, watching tv, and making little blanket pallets to sleep on. It started a family tradition of many pallet nights, with finger food dinners and family-friendly movies on Friday nights until those evenings were replaced with football games and school dances. Sigh. A lot of time has passed here.
We replaced the ugly blue carpet with bright wood flooring after the kids were grown.
I’m the one that’s blue today.
