Tuesday, November 12, 2013

our childhood home

Well, I broke my blogging streak. I planned to blog 2-3 times per week, and was doing just that… and then, this past week happened.  So many things have transpired - in my heart, in my mind, in life.  Some challenging, all good.  Anyhow, I'm back on.

Last weekend, Shannon and I ventured out to Janet Court, the street on which my dad and his brothers built the house I lived in from ages nine to seventeen.  That house is the home to countless memories; many forgotten, most kept.  

We stepped quietly through the Crymes family plot, a pre-civil war graveyard with beautiful carved headstones and one shoddily constructed crypt, forever encapsulating a glimpse into the family that claimed that land long before mine did.  We knocked on the door of our childhood home, worried and nervous that we might be seen as intruders.  The current woman of the house answered, and seemed so pleasantly surprised to find the two girls who lived there first.  We even showed her where we wrote our names in the then-fresh cement of the driveway - she hadn't seen it there before.  She let us traipse through the woods behind the house, the scene of so many of my after-school adventures, and the burial place of my one and only cat, George.

Of course we had to make a day of it - dipping into Duke Sandwich Co. first for a cheap-as-it-gets lunch, and finishing with a perusal of a local Simpsonville antique store for some Christmas dreaming and shenanigans. 

It was a very good day. Sister days always are.

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