I’ve always felt a bit funny standing and peering over a fence at a house that isn’t yours anymore. Imagine if a woman inside on her own was to catch sight of me staring into her backyard for no apparent reason. The police would be called. You’ve got to be subtle about it. Move position regularly and pretend to be taking in the country air. It just doesn’t seem right tiptoeing around a house you spent over 10 years in. Once your home, now somebody elses. And my how it has changed.
Foresters House always had so much potential. It sat surrounded by a jungle of a garden at the back, and an overgrown vegetable allotment at the front. But sitting in the middle of nowhere, it was a paradise of peace. A perfect place for my parents to retire to. Alas dad did all he could, but with failing health in twilight years the promise of a new Eden was left to wrack and ruin. I always wanted to write a letter to one of those garden make-over shows and get them to create some kind of Japanese Zen thing where the nettles had taken over. It took me weeks to get the place anywhere near presentable to a potential buyer. Now, with the zest of the new owners youth clearly apparent, our old home is on its way to achieving domestic greatness. I just wish mum and dad could have seen it.
Standing by their graves in light rain and I’m pleased with myself for making a passable arrangement of flowers in the little jar thing. I don’t have a picture, save on a disposable camera, so you’ll just have to take my word for it that I’ve got some mad flower arranging skilz. I’ve never been one to linger long in such a place, as I don’t need to stand in front of a headstone to talk to them. They’re always with me. But there are many times I catch myself with the thought; “oh I can’t wait to tell mum and dad about that”. Then I realise that isn’t possible. I wonder what they would have thought of all this change? Of the girl standing beside me? Of my world travel? Of Liverpool in with a shout of winning the Premier League? I guess I’ll never know; but I reckon they would have been happy. I know I am.
Memories
I’ve always felt a bit funny standing and peering over a fence at a house that isn’t yours anymore. Imagine if a woman inside on her own was to catch sight of me staring into her backyard for no apparent reason. The police would be called. You’ve got to be subtle about it. Move position regularly and pretend to be taking in the country air. It just doesn’t seem right tiptoeing around a house you spent over 10 years in. Once your home, now somebody elses. And my how it has changed.
Foresters House always had so much potential. It sat surrounded by a jungle of a garden at the back, and an overgrown vegetable allotment at the front. But sitting in the middle of nowhere, it was a paradise of peace. A perfect place for my parents to retire to. Alas dad did all he could, but with failing health in twilight years the promise of a new Eden was left to wrack and ruin. I always wanted to write a letter to one of those garden make-over shows and get them to create some kind of Japanese Zen thing where the nettles had taken over. It took me weeks to get the place anywhere near presentable to a potential buyer. Now, with the zest of the new owners youth clearly apparent, our old home is on its way to achieving domestic greatness. I just wish mum and dad could have seen it.
Standing by their graves in light rain and I’m pleased with myself for making a passable arrangement of flowers in the little jar thing. I don’t have a picture, save on a disposable camera, so you’ll just have to take my word for it that I’ve got some mad flower arranging skilz. I’ve never been one to linger long in such a place, as I don’t need to stand in front of a headstone to talk to them. They’re always with me. But there are many times I catch myself with the thought; “oh I can’t wait to tell mum and dad about that”. Then I realise that isn’t possible. I wonder what they would have thought of all this change? Of the girl standing beside me? Of my world travel? Of Liverpool in with a shout of winning the Premier League? I guess I’ll never know; but I reckon they would have been happy. I know I am.