Back when we lived in New Hampshire, I worked at the school, and we lived close to the center of town. Here are some of our favorite things about living there...
Hanging my laundry out on the line on a Saturday and having the kids at school on Monday giggle about seeing our family's underwear.
Having kids ask me year after year to set aside the book I was going to read aloud in the library and tell them, instead, the ghost stories about our house that they had heard about from their older siblings.
Having all the kids from the park across the street come over to our house for a potty break because they had heard we had a new "jet" toilet.
Finding another line of kids at the door one day waiting for a tour of all the haunted spots in our house (our son was apparently charging admission).
Hearing stories about our old house having been a stop on the Underground Railroad from the volunteer firemen that time our furnace caught on fire.
Having the 8th grade English teacher write a play about our house and the Underground Railroad.
Going to the Town Clerk's office for some car-related business only to find that the office was in her 250-year old house and that those of us waiting in line, sitting in lovely old chairs, were to be entertained by her two-year old playing the piano. This was a LOT different from the motor vehicle offices I had dealt with before.
Watching that same two-year old grow up to adulthood and start raising her own family.
Hearing the carpenters run away when they were fixing one of the sills and some snakes came slithering out of the wall of the bathroom/laundry room. They said there were 14 snakes.
Being asked two weeks later about the 14-foot snake that "people were saying" we found inside our clothes dryer. We loved the way stories grew as they were passed on and joked that if the "carpenter/14 snakes" story continued to circulate it might eventually morph into 14 belly-dancers-with-snakes discovered in the attic.
I remember the ghost stories...and climbing INTO those dark, squishy hiding spots...and I love seeing your old house every time I go back home and drive past it.
And I remember "drug duckie," which has forever endeared those odd woven ducks in my heart.
Hi Clairz! I'm back and catching up on your blog. Your old house in New Hampshire is just gorgeous ... do you miss it? Loved all the stories you have about the house.
I am learning that leaving behind our old homes is a bittersweet time. We may not be able to return and walk through it again, but we take all the precious memories with us.
Let me try this comment again, with corrections.
Erikka, I pretty much wrote this post for you, in the hope that you would read it. Thank you for leaving a comment. Now I suppose I will have to explain "drug ducky" to the rest of the reading public. Stay tuned for a future post.
Towanda, thank you for reading. That house was gorgeous for the moment in that photo. Seconds later the paint started flaking off again. A 225-year old house makes the term "money pit" have a whole new and very personal meaning. Perhaps I will post more on the house--there are way more stories to be told about it!
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