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Stone curbs and broken slate

At home we still have old-fashioned sidewalks and curbs. That's the thing, that's the detail that says 'home' to me. I look at the curbs.

Otherwise, things look the same but not. I can be at the same intersection I used to go through at least twice if not three or four times a day, and it hasn't changed, but I'm seeing it from a different angle somehow. I'm in the driver's seat now, which I rarely was before. Or I'm an inch taller and that's throwing everything off.

There's this one room upstairs that I used to sit in and look out at the huge old trees down the street. That still looks the same.

I'm lucky they still have the old house at all. Most childhood bedrooms belong to someone else now. Mine is still mine. I got to stay there with my daughter this summer: "This is where Mommy went to sleep every night." I must say that my younger self was not understanding at all. She had no sentimental welcome for these ghosts from her future. She didn't see life that way. We left her alone.

This time, it was just me. That was okay.

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This page contains a single entry from the blog posted on November 23, 2007 8:59 AM.

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