Going Back

When one lives in a certain area for some time then moves away, I think it's expected that one will miss the area that they lived in. Maybe even harbor some regrets for moving away. I felt like that after we moved here. I love where I live, but there were some times I thought maybe it wasn't the right decision and if we had stayed, we wouldn't be in the situation we're in.

For a long time, we made nearly weekly treks back to the old place, either to shop in familiar grounds or visit friends or eat at our favorite place. As time went on, the visits lessened, but when we did go, it all felt so much like "home".

Fast forward 5 years to present time: We went back yesterday. It's been a few months since our last visit and I think, I am officially over it. The town has changed much since we moved away, grown and expanded, more stores, old shops replaced with new shops, old haunts gone completely. It just didn't feel the same anymore. Now it feels like we are tourists in a strange town. I actually saw people I used to know and it felt awkward and uncomfortable standing there, trying to make conversation with someone you really have nothing to say to.

We didn't go back and see the old house. I went there last time and it's all different now. It has lost it's glow for us. The kindly old guy that lived in the 200-year old house is dead and his brother sold off the land in parcels; the beer-loving plumber that lived in the house in front of us crashed the company truck one too many times and ended up foreclosing on the house, landing his family and himself in an apartment in town; the brother of the plumber that lived in the house between his and ours is still there, quiet as ever. And the people that bought our house? Well, they have interesting ways of keeping house and we cannot fathom their ways, so we'd rather not look. It's their house now, and I remind myself that we out-grew that house and moving here was the best thing we could have done.

We only went back to shop at the kid's consignment store. I never did manage to go through the kids' clothes to consign over there, but I knew I'd want to shop there. The kids needed shoes for the cooler months and we found 3 pairs for each girl, 2 for Peter. Even the store felt weird and we didn't even stay to chat with Boss Lady.

Our favorite place to eat is in trouble. There used to be a thrift shop by them that recently closed. Because people no longer go to the thrift shop, they've lost the walk-in business. We went in to eat at prime lunch hour and the cook was not even cooking. We had the whole place to ourselves. I feel bad for them. I'm glad we were there yesterday, but I fear that it may be the last time we will ever eat there. I hope they overcome this big bump in the road.

Coming home yesterday truly felt like we were coming home. There was no more looking back at the old place, wishing we could have brought parts of it with us. The ties we still had are severed and I'm okay with it. Home is here, with my husband and my children. I'm happy.
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Welcome to Almost Heaven

You know how some people like to travel to far off and exotic places? They hop a plane or a train and go to see mountains or beaches or far away cities where no one speaks your language? I don't need to do that. I have all the beauty I need right here.



We had the most perfect weekend-- well, half perfect. Hubby had to work on Saturday so I went yard sale-ing by myself with the kids on Saturday. Then Sunday we all went out again and I couldn't have asked for a more perfect day.



We never went farther than 30 miles from where we live, and the views along the back roads are simply breathtaking. Add to that the blooming redbuds and dogwoods and it rivals any greek ruin. There's a reason why West Virginia is called "Almost Heaven". If you like John Denver, you can start singing his 'Country Roads' song now.




The John Blue Bridge. I know, it's green. But it's called John Blue. They're going to tear this one down soon and replace it with a stronger, boring concrete one. I'll miss this bridge when it's gone.



The view through the bridge, over the river. Gorgeous rocky cliffs. Downriver is a beautiful campground nestled in the valleys and there are campers and tents parked all along the river. We want to camp there one day when the kids are older and canoe down the river. It'd be lovely to see the views from the water.

Stopping at a road-side flea market, I caught this wasp admiring itself in the mirror. Couldn't resist a shot of it. It stayed there for a good while, preening and cleaning his antennae and legs.

Along Route 50 in West Virginia, there is a stretch of road that has blooming redbuds all along the side for miles. It's a breathtaking view and then when you clear the trees you can see for miles the mountain ranges that Virginia and West Virginia share.

I love, love, love this old log cabin. I can only imagine when it was built and the road was probably a dusty dirt trail. It sits right at the bottom of a mountain and beyond the house the road veers sharply to the right and a steep drive up, up, up. It's made from these huge cuts of logs and the cracks filled with mortar. Still in pretty good shape except for that corner in the back. A car crashed into it and busted it open, but look, it didn't even do that much damage. It gives me a peek inside to see abandoned furniture and odds and ends. How I wish I was brave enough to climb inside and get a closer look, maybe salvage a few pieces of furniture or something, but people up here don't take too kindly to trespassers and it's legal here to shoot trespassers. I'd rather not catch myself staring down the barrel of a rifle, thank you very much.

I wonder what happened to the occupants of the house, where did they go and why did they leave. They couldn't find anyone to buy it? Nobody wanted to live so close to the road? No surviving relatives? Maybe someone could reuse the logs and dismantle the house and stone chimney piece by piece? If I could, I would. I'd rebuild it on the other half of our property and rent it out as a vacation home. Until then, I'll just enjoy the beauty of the old house, tell Hubby to "slow down, slow down!" and crane my neck looking back at it every time we drive by it.

"Tell Me More..."

I am so tickled that my girls love watching 'Grease'! It's one of my favorite movies and it makes my husband laugh when I mimic Sandy at the end of the movie, when she says, "Tell me about it, stud." then drops her cigarette, stomps it out then uses her foot to push Danny over.

My girls like to dance to "Summer Nights" and while I was cooking dinner, they were dancing all over the kitchen while singing the lines to the song.

When I was in high school, I was really into drama of the theatrical kind. I danced in the Fall & Spring Dance Concerts, performed in the Spring Plays and participated in a traveling Road Show and performed all over the DC area and beyond.

Here, I am dressed in an African dance outfit and me and 2 other girls performed a traditional African tribal dance. We were taught by a wonderful woman and she was part of her own performing group and her husband played the music, thumping drum beats that you couldn't help but dance to. We also performed the dance at area colleges. My friend was dressed as a flapper and she had her own dance to do in the Fall Dance Concert.

For the Spring Play, we filmed a silent movie to play within the play. It was fun to dress as a maid and have real life movie people come and film us and we had to do multiple takes over and over. If I remember right, it took all day to make and the actual film was maybe 5 minutes long. I do remember it being cold and we hopped around to keep warm when we were waiting for our turn to act.

I also did a jazz dance in the same Fall Dance Concert as the African dance. We performed to the Elton John song, "Benny and the Jets". It was the first time I had ever heard of that song and I fell in love with it. I had to do several costume changes for this dance and at the end, I morphed into a crazed fan and ran through the audience trying to leap onto the stage.

I have fond memories of my days in the theater and I had the opportunity to meet lots of people, even famous ones. I miss it sometimes, when I hear a certain song that I performed to once. My traveling road show took me to South America and to many places along the east coast; it gave me a chance to get out of school for shows and to break curfew for late night rehearsals. It opened me up in more ways than one, and I really believe I would not be who I am today if it wasn't for my performances in the theater.

We performed "Summer Nights" in our road show. We did little skits, danced and signed songs and there was a bit of a 50s section in our show where we dressed in the poodle skirts and saddle shoes with pony tails and the guys were in white muscle tees with slicked back hair. We also did "My Boyfriend's Back" and "The Wanderer".

Ahh... good times. I think I surprised my girls when they discovered I knew the words to Summer Nights. They know I'm deaf and mama doesn't hear the music that comes on the radio-- but that's only partly true. If it's loud enough, I can hear the music, but unless it's something I know, I can't tell you who it is. My internal radio is permanently stuck in the 80s.

Beginnings

I find myself gravitating toward things that I grew up with, having a preference for stuff that my Mom or Dad had. I don't know if it is a comfort thing, but I certainly do enjoy using these old items, and when I find them, I practically squeal with delight!

Mom had a set of melamine splatterware mixing bowls. I clearly remember breaking one and not really understanding why she got so upset. I knew she had 2 more, so what was the big deal? As an adult, I look back on that day and wince, shaking my head at my own naivete. I know now that certain items have sentimental value to them, and that particular set of mixing bowls was given to my mom by her own mother and at the time I broke it, their relationship was strained, to say the least.

I have, over the years, found my own set of melamine splatterware bowls, though they don't match, and I use these every time I bake. Cookies, cake, bread... it's my favorite set of bowls and as much as I love my Pyrex bowls, the melamine bowls are the first ones I reach for. I would be devasted if one of my kids broke one, but there is no sentimental value attached to them, I just like using them.

I found this green sewing basket at the flea market last week. I gasped when I saw it. My mom had one just like it, only hers was pink and round. After a quick price check (oh please please please), I was delighted to see I could afford it! I snapped it up and if I had found nothing else that day, that would have been just fine with me.

I remember going through my mom's sewing basket when I was a kid. She still has it, I think, but I haven't seen it in so long-- 20 years at least. I would finger the loose buttons on the bottom and admire the pretty spools of thread, carefully open the cardboard packet of sharp needles and stare in awe at the row of pointy, shiny tips. I loved her tomato pin cushion with the strawberry and I'd take the pins out and make designs with them all around the tomato.

This must have been around the time I started to fall in love with sewing. My sister was the crafty one, teaching herself to crochet and do counted cross stitch, but I was the sewing one. When I was 16, my mom gave me her old sewing machine (above). Her mom gave it to her when she was 16. It's a beautiful machine, heavy, gray and pink. I loved it. Still do, but it is not working now, and I've had to replace it with a newer one. The new one doesn't compare, though, and after a few years, it is already in need of repair. I'd like to fix my old one and use it again. It has a musty smell that I've never been able to get rid of, and every time I open the case, the smell takes me back to when I was 16. It also has that old electrical smell and as weird as it sounds, I love that smell.

I found this old one at the dump a few years ago and it is made by the same company as my lovely pink and gray one. I thought I might be able to use it for parts, though it is an older model. I need to find a sewing machine repair man that would be familiar with an older machine. Might get lucky in these parts, living here, where people hold on to things past.

My mom asked me once why I liked old things, and thinking about it now, it's because I grew up with them. They are intwined with my memories, and when I see it, feel it, touch it, smell it, it takes me back again.

Big Blue Bridge

The county we live in has slowly been replacing many of the small bridges on all the country roads around here. One by one, the old bridges get demolished, first one lane, then the other. The roads are so rural that they don't even have someone to stand and hold up the east-bound traffic so the west-bound traffic can go past. We just look to be sure no one is coming, then cross into the opposite lane and go over the bridge.

The replacement bridges are sturdier but have no character. I suppose, though, with all the broken down bridges that are falling all over the place, I should be happy that the old bridges are being replaced.

Then I read recently that they were going to replace the big, blue bridge right outside of town. I love that bridge! I knew I would have to take a picture of it before it was gone. It is one of those old steel girder type bridges before concrete and steel rods took over. It was hard finding a spot to take pictures, since there is no shoulder to pull over and there is a steady stream of traffic coming and going, so I can't stand in the middle of the road, either.

Here, a view of the bridge from underneath. We discovered that it is allowed for people to come here and fish or take a boat on the water. We'll be back later!

This is the closest I could get of the bridge without getting run over by a speeding truck.

The girls had a great time under the bridge. It was fun throwing rocks into the water. Lots of flat rocks-- perfect for skipping stones across the water!

I know with the passage of time, things break down or get worn with use and almost nothing stays the same. That's why pictures are nice. They remind us of the way things were and how we cannot go back to the old days.