Reflecting on an old address
Since we tend to divide time up into units I have to mentioned that this year is almost over. There are still a few more days to run on the calendar but for the whole this one is done. Not much changed during the last twelve months. No comings or goings. No instant fortune. In fact the only thing that comes to mind is that one of my former addresses has been sold. And it was for a house where I have not lived for decades but my family hung on to it Good year through bad. For about six decades. And now in one of those moves that is so final the house was sold and the last of my family members moved away from there. From now on anyone living nearby can say that’s where they used to live. Not me. They do not even know me, it’s been so long. What I still have left are artifacts. Objects that I’m marked with that address years ago as a place to send my stuff. There is a steamer trunk in the garage with my name an address proudly stencilled on the side of it. Using a stencil that I prepared at one job I had. Given that I will never use that trunk again to actually travel I will just leave the address there like a mark on the wall. Note that I do not say a mark in the sand. Around here those are easily erased by the tide. Twice a day. As I look back I realize how small that house really was even though it held more than a dozen people at one point. Believe me, not to mention, a rather a quickly built house by the federal government after one of the wars to house the returning servicemen. The story of how my family ended up there has nothing to do with the war. And my own children when they look back will have old addresses to relate to but I doubt that any of the addresses will reflect life over six decades. In a world where the family castle no longer exists that is just an object from a story. Would things have been different for me if I had stayed in that area? Most certainly. You will note that I got out at the first opportunity: on a train and they don’t even do that anymore.
