no there there
Oh, now I remember what it's like to be pregnant. The everyday violence of the world is beyond too much. I had to kill my television. Can barely bring myself to get online.
And now I do and I learn that the house I grew up in--the one my grandfather designed and built in 1920 when my step-dad was a little kid--the one I brought my daughter home to when she was just a few months old and we needed shelter--well, the new owners "don't like the Spanish style" and plan to tear it down.
My mom relays this news, saying "When we see the house torn down, we will have more appreciation for the suffering of people who have to see their whole village wiped out."
I guess so, but mostly my disgusted irritation with human beings blooms. I mean, if they "don't like the Spanish style," why the fuck did they buy it? I'm just wondering. Not that I'm going to summon my ancestors to haunt whatever house in whatever style they decide they might like or anything...
It's kinda funny, actually, because just yesterday I sat right here watching out my window--the lavender and the roses and all the crazy green and flowers of spring--and even though I own this little house I understood as I took it all in that there is no settled down, that I would always be a traveler, that in a year or a decade I'll move on.
And now I do and I learn that the house I grew up in--the one my grandfather designed and built in 1920 when my step-dad was a little kid--the one I brought my daughter home to when she was just a few months old and we needed shelter--well, the new owners "don't like the Spanish style" and plan to tear it down.
My mom relays this news, saying "When we see the house torn down, we will have more appreciation for the suffering of people who have to see their whole village wiped out."
I guess so, but mostly my disgusted irritation with human beings blooms. I mean, if they "don't like the Spanish style," why the fuck did they buy it? I'm just wondering. Not that I'm going to summon my ancestors to haunt whatever house in whatever style they decide they might like or anything...
It's kinda funny, actually, because just yesterday I sat right here watching out my window--the lavender and the roses and all the crazy green and flowers of spring--and even though I own this little house I understood as I took it all in that there is no settled down, that I would always be a traveler, that in a year or a decade I'll move on.
posted by Contact at 6:19 PM
8 Comments:
Man, that's a bummer and so lame on their part. Five bucks says they're going to put up a McMansion! :O
this past weekend I had a woman knock on my door, and ask if she could take some photos of my house.
She grew up in the house 30 years ago and was in Portland for a visit.
I felt sort of guilty for having painted the house orange, and putting up a fence, I can't imagine tearing it down! LOL!
Heidi
This past Mother's Day, (mine eclipsed, once again, by my VERY PLANNED daughter's birthday), a friend asked if I wanted to go to a Pow Wow in Palo Alto. I suddenly remembered going to that Pow Wow many moons ago with you, Maia and Steven. Oddly, being the joint-custody mom, I can't even remember if my own kids went with us. What I do remember is that it suddenly started pouring rain while we ate funnel cakes wearing only sweaters. After a quick call, we took refuge in that Spanish-style house in Palo Alto and had the only lamb dinner I have ever liked in my life with your mom and John. Having moved alot with my own family and having folks who love ultra-modern design, I was in awe of that classic house you grew up in. I had a hard time imagining you, little, in that bedroom with the wonderful window.
It's weird that I just remembered that Spanish-style house earlier this month.
I drove by my parent's old house in Los Altos Hills the other day. I didn't spend my youth there, as you spent your youth in the Spanish-style house. But my parents lived there for 20 years and my mom died in her room there, almost 10 years ago to this very day. I expected it to be just the same, as they had meticulously made that house into their impeccable home for so long. Sadly, the front lawn was a mess
(if that is what the owners are willing to display as their front yard, I can only imagine what the side-yard Japanese garden that was attended to with care by Mr. Hiroda looked like), the paint was dull and the black shutters were chipped.
Why the hell did those assholes buy a multi-million dollar home and let it look like crap? Didn't they know that my mom got cancer and wanted that west wall taken out and replaced by glass so she could see the Japanese Garden while she wasted to 70 lbs? Didn't they know that Mr. Hiroda handcarved a sign that said "Cyndee's Garden" and it used to live there?
Well they, like the Spanish-style home dislikers, bought it for the land in sits on, in the zip code the land sits in. The same kind of land that has always made people kill others and bad things.
Luckily, Ariel - we have our memories. The can't get torn down or let fall into disrepair. They can't get lost like photos and they won't die until we do. Even then, they live on with our kids.
I'm sorry this is going on. Take care!
I can't come close to the eloquence of Inga's post, but this is why it's so hard for me to go back to the old neighborhood. It makes me sick that they want to tear down your beautiful house. The heiress (I shit you not) who bought ours -- where I grew up, where we played Wonder Woman in the back yard, and where my dad died -- looks basically the same from the street, but was apparently gutted for a complete rehab on the inside, rendering it unrecognizable once you cross the threshold. Made me mad, even if I had no right to be.
But I suppose nothing could be worse than the plantation-esque monstrosity (which my mother and I call "Tara") that they built kitty-corner to your place, where a sweet old Professorville house used to be. And don't get me started on the Varsity Theatre...! Shallow Alto, indeed.
--Lotti
like the death of a mother, a father, the closet friend or even a house....nothing that is real ever dies, for the reason for your sorrow is the reason it will never die. What ever is REAL will live forever and nothing can take it away, EVEN when you can't see or touch it.
You'll be OK....but I know you know that!
P.S. Just finished reading "The Mother Trip"....THANK YOU & MUCH MUCH LOVE!!
I'm so sorry to hear that Ariel, my sister and I have a week's worth of beautiful memories in that house. It was there your mother introduced us to artichokes, which we share with our own babes to this day.
That isn't by any chance the house you lived in in junior high is it? The one with your mom's art studio outside, and the first place I ever smoked pot?
Say it isn't so!!
HAYYYYYYY ARiel!!!!
I'm laying Mamaphiles #3 out on monday, and I thought this little essay you wrote here might nicely fit the "Coming Home" theme.
what do you think? can I put it in.
(there is alot of tales of houses, actually in the "home" and I like to keep a good dose of us wanderers. this essay is a different and complimentary take, all the voices and takes ARE WONDERFUL, by the way, its gonna be super nice.)
If so, email me a bio too
China, the tormentor
(I been encouraging/bugging some people to get essays in.)
p.s. I've had two sets houseguests after you guys, (so I got better at it - less all agorophobic, plus h. and the big dog grew into their bedroom) its been a good month, I'm really glad I got to see yall on that fleeting step of life, to touch base, its neat to be writer friends and get that.
xoxo
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