Memories

I think that I may have a bizarre habit. Sometimes I sit and force myself to remember things.

Obviously not bad things, those memories I do try to push away. I guess more so the feelings that those memories invoke, I try to dissuade.

For the last few weeks, and I'm not sure why, I've been thinking about our old house in Cottam, that we moved out of in October of 2004. So, as I sat drinking coffee this morning, (that which I'd normally do in front of the computer), I allowed myself to pretend that I was sitting on the love seat, but in our old house. My mind's eye looked around nostalgically.

A slightly dark room, although it could be sunny outside, dark burgundy plaid Roman blinds that my mom made for us. Light blue carpet, funky Dijon mustard walls, that Billy picked the colour for, and it turned out fantastic, deep burgundy couches, lots of plants, and rough wood tables and bookcase. Those are the things that are easy to remember, partly because we still own all of that furniture.

Things that can be forgotten include how the sun poked through the sides of the shades, as they were a millimetre too small on each side and dust could be seen floating through the air. The scraping sound the tall evergreen tree made on the window behind the couch, The constant, slightly musty smell. The plant in the corner that died in our new house, in the pot that NFL hand painted for me. The trailing plant which sat upon the old ironing board I bought in a dirty Tennessee flea market and refinished to match the wookwork in our house. The picture of Billy and I from our first cruise. The view of the recently painted bathroom. (After I removed the terrible English garden and manor wall paper border.) I could go on and on.

It was a great house. The kitchen was big and bright. I love the colour we painted it, the bright white cupboards, the gray counter, and the steel-like light fixtures and drawer pulls. The backyard was one of the best features. Deep with big shady trees, nice, thick grass, a vegetable garden in the back, a big porch, a small pond, and a cute walkway to the detached garage.

We thought we would live there forever. Why not? It was the perfect size, and had everything we needed. Don't get me wrong, I don't regret building our new house in the least, it just makes me wonder how different or how similar our life would be if we stayed in that house? There are tough questions I could ask myself, but I choose not to dwell on those. Instead, I'm pleased that I can remember our happy little gray house in Cottam, with the sidewalk out front, and landscaping all around, the friends we had over, the good times on the the back porch in the summers. I'm so lucky to have so many good memories.

This nostalgic phase will pass soon, perhaps I have too much time on my hands without continual access to the computer, perhaps I should get a job, perhaps, perhaps, perhaps... It's all good though...