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Category: My Old House

When locked doors open by themselves…

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There are memories of times and places that can be deeply disturbing. They remain in the subconscious until something awakens them to darken and blur the present while the mind sinks into “back then” and “back there.” They disrupt our tidy, neatly arranged lives, reminding us of our human frailties.

“Hey, neighbor. I know you’re in there.”

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There is a narrow alleyway between our properties, and Lois would reach across her fence with an old sponge mop and tap on the side of my house. Then she would go back to feeding her cats and looking lost, desperate for someone to hear her stories before forgetting them.

Just being home

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This in one of those rainy Sunday afternoons when I wish very much that this home renovation was over and you were here. There would be a savory pot of stew slowly simmering on the stove. We would talk, laugh, play a game, or watch a movie. Just being home.