Remodeling Myself
I motored past the town in which I was born along the by-pass that was built long after I left town with my mother, sister, and brother. Everything I had ever known was in that town; all my memories were anchored in the place where I spent my unfinished childhood.
I think about the reckless abandon that carried me through each day. I had my parents, my siblings. My uncle took Sis and I to all the major celebrations held by the Elks Club where he was a member. We would get all dressed up in our swiss dotted pinafores with our tafeta petticoats that made the ruffled skirt flare out. I can still hear the rustle of my dress as I turned and spun my three year old self before the mirror. I had a sweater that matched my dress and hanky folded in my sleeve. (All big girls needed a hanky in their sleeve in case they had to blow their noses.)
I looked towards town and saw Park Hill where I rode my bike down a super steep hill that had a barbed wire fence at the bottom. I haven’t seen that hill in over 40 years and the true height of our version of the xtreme bike path remains a mystery. And that’s the way I want it.
I stood before the house that was built by my father. I was under one year of age and loved to sit in an apricot crate watching him pound nails. I don’t know how long it took to build, but the memories of that house are so prescious to me…It’s where we lived when we are all still together, still a family.
Driving by it as an adult I realize how diminutive that house actually was. How strange…the difference between perspective as a child versus that of an adult. I heard the people that bought the house when my parents divorced 43 years ago have now passed and it passed to one of their children. They completely gutting the house and remodeling. But the structure, the framing, the roof, and the foundation are still there, much like myself today. And I realize that I carry such incredibly happy memories somewhere deep inside me. And I also realize that though my family fell apart when I was nine years old, and my father died when I was 36 years old, I am that same child I was before Dad left. My foundation is strong, my structure stands tall, my roof is worn with age. I may have remodeled myself through the years but I still carry all I was as a child…I just added to it to become a grown up version of myself.
I can tell that your time by the hearth will yield a bountiful harvest. Autobiographical exploration is best undertaken within this environment. This will be a rich vein Matilda
Hello Matilda.
Going back can be both heart breaking and rejuvenating. It is good though because it shines up our memories.
Vi
i love your description of your child self here – i too can hear the rustling! I remember going back and revisiting my childhood home and being shocked at how small it looked – not how I remembered it at all of course. I am smiling broadly at your being the same child … having grown with a strong foundation, the roof worn with age – wonderful!
by Jill August 13, 2009 at 6:48 am edit comment
I too know the mystery of returning and finding how proportions have changed completely. This is the foundation of rich work Sally.
by Heather Blakey August 13, 2009 at 12:26 pm edit comment
I like you way you relate yourself to the house you grew up in. Yesterday I was talking to an artist friend of mine who is Maori. She is making a work called ‘The Body is the Meeting House’. She told me that in Maori culture the Meeting House is the body of the ancestors – her art work is exploring how she has incorporated the Meeting House into her own being – it tallies with your ideas about your childhood home I think.
Like you I’ve been thinking about a house I lived in a child – seems like Hestia takes us back into our self in all kinds of ways.
The Body is the Meeting House’. She told me that in Maori culture the Meeting House is the body of the ancestors – sort of like the concept “Your body is the temple of the Holy Spirit” – one great thought inspires another –
really like your analogy of the house, its foundation, your memories, holding them inside you, even as you are moving on….they will always be a part of you…
That makes perfect sense to me!