Here’s a wall of the rock house I loved so much that a part of me still lives there in my memory. Apparently a jonquil has pushed its way into spring and requires its chance at posterity. In the corner is the shadow of someone, most certainly my mother, taking the photo.
There’s still enough of a chill, even on that sunny day, for my father to be wearing a blue/gray sweater (that matches his socks, which seem crazy light for his dark pants) over his shirt and tie and under his wool coat. He is roughly the age in this photo that I am now (you know, thirty-five a few times). I have no idea what My Age Him and This Age Me would talk about. His world and my world are so different.
People say I look like my mother. But I tell you this. Even though the distorted angle of this photo makes his head look larger than it was, he did have long ears, as did his father, and my ears hark right back to that genetic variant. So whatever we might talk about, we’d be sure to HEAR each other.
Your father looks very dapper in this picture, and how sweet that he wished to pose with the small Jonquil; probably made more special by its isolation, like a remnant from your stone house’s glory years.
I think “dapper” is a good word.
I didn’t know until the past few years that my sister didn’t like living in this house. There was most certainly a “presence” there, but while my parents found it playful and I found it protective, for her it was disquieting. Grown-up me could have helped with that, but I was only a little kid.
I remember our time there as happy, and I’m sure there will be more photos and stories about it over the rest of my 365 project.
Your poor sis. I hope to see more pictures of this house.
Between the old stone wall, the Jonquil and your father’s smart manner of dress, this picture could have been taken in England.
Later that morning, we could have ridden to hounds! You know, if we were aristocrats, British, fox hunted*, or even rode.
*Would never!
I loved that house also, so sad when it was torn down!
I still love the movie of you on the roof with D&D!
It’s Pete! (Though I never, ever called him that…at least not to his face.) Bill, Lynn’s Dad, still affectionately refers to him as “Sarge.”
Very cool! I didn’t know Mr. V called him “Sarge.” My parents had friends in South Carolina who always called him that, though. I almost used that in a book I’m working on for my character’s father, but she’s calling her father “the Sergeant Major” instead.
Yes although the house was beautiful it had a ghost who often tried to get a little too friendly with me. When it tried to climb in bed with me I drew the line. Scared the bejesus out of me.
Where were the Ghostbusters when we needed them?