So, it’s raining. Not a heavy, soaking rain, but more of an annoying mist; too light to use an umbrella but heavy enough to wreck your perfect hair day. That kind of rain. What is it about water falling from the sky that makes me reflect, makes me think back, and reminisce? My thoughts always go to the same place. 17 Carter Road. Braintree, Massachusetts. It was the first house that I’d ever rented, after living in apartments. It had a large, closed in front porch, hardwood floors and built ins. The house itself was the palest of pink.
I moved in rather hastily, not realizing the cost of oil heat, electricity, and all the other expenses of moving into a new place. But I was 23 years old, and didn’t think things through. All I knew was I loved this house. It was mine for $685/mo. plus utilities. Since the day I moved in, it seemed to rain. Much like the rain today, it brought out the scent of the grass and the smell of the tar from the street. I loved to watch the rain from the porch.
Every night when I came home from work, I’d walk around the house, lighting my scented candles. I’d turn the lights down, pour myself a glass of Riesling, and listen to music. I was always big on music. Music while I showered. Music while I baked. My house was always filled with music. Those were good times. Until I couldn’t afford the rent, the utilities, or my scented candle purchasing habit.
God love my dad, because I called him up one night – one night when I knew my mom wasn’t home. Not only wasn’t she home, she was visiting my grandparents in Fort Myers Beach, Florida. “Yah, so Dad…you feel up to helping me move out?” Of course, he was. He has never once, in my 49 years disappointed me. “SURE “, he said, “When & where?” To which I replied. “How about tomorrow morning…your house?”
I stayed up all night packing. In hindsight, I probably should have given my dad a little more notice! After all, I’d already cleared it with my landlord and she’d already found someone to rent the house. Nothing like waiting literally until the last minute. I guess I couldn’t bring myself to call with my tail between my legs and go back to my childhood home.
What a surprise for my mom when she returned from her visit to find me living there!
They say you can never go home again. But in my case, you can. I did…a few times!
But out of all the apartments, my first real house rental, the back & forth to my folks’ and the overall craziness that has been my life – they are all memories. They’ve taught me lessons every step along the way.
Today I celebrate those memories, as I watch the rain fall from outside my window.