Moving Day: 11/26/08
If I could count the tears I’ve wiped away on Brunstane Circle, I would have a deep well full of memories. Start with the 3 am baby calls, the five-alarm nightmares – each one wearing a path into the carpeted hallway upstairs to the murmur of Springsteen songs and nursery rhymes. Go from there to bicycle crashes and fights with friends, to long summer days spent in the front yard drinking beer and watching over a street full of kids. We were the family that was never going to leave, the ones who kept watch on the cudlesac, shuttling snacks and toys and band aids. I would come home and find a kid I didn’t know playing in my front yard or inside the house, wandering around and looking for food, other kids or toys.
We don’t live there anymore.
Today it stands as a rental property for families on their way to another place and another home. Remove the stuff, paint the walls light brown and what you’re really doing is ripping the home out of the house, rendering it to the core of what it is: a building, an investment in good years and an albatross when times are down. The memories made inside are what make it special, along with trees planted and projects completed.
Ah, and those memories are so very sweet.
Two christenings, and a birth, along with two deaths. Too many parties with friends to count and more barbeques than weekends were the order of the day on Brunstane Circle, summers melting into fall and turning to Christmas seven times over. Every year, the neighbors waited to see what type of display we’d create, laughing when it would take me two days to put up enough lights to make Clark Griswold proud. There were Easter egg hunts, bicycle lessons, life trickling along day after day with memories of my daughters following along in the current.
I will miss the Willow out front, and the Alder in back. I will miss watching Boris hop on three legs across the street to say hello to Buster, and I will miss the neighbors – most of ‘em. After seven years of life lived well I miss it all. Today is Moving Day and it’s the day before Thanksgiving. My house is empty and all the memories I made there are a rectangle on the Interstate, chasing a few more tears that will add to that well of memories I have of Brunstane Circle.