I haven’t written about it before. Maybe I’ll try a poem.

I made split pea soup yesterday, but didn’t take any pictures. Seems I can only take them when we’re eating out!

Oh, this is such a poignant story. It’s as if you’ve been told “childhood is over, get on with growing up.” Melissa, have you written about this? It’s a short story, an essay, a poem. Part of a memoir, even. Or . . . a story from the viewpoint of the lost toys. This has such wonderful possibilities and it may help soothe those hurt feelings that linger today.

Since January is National Soup Month, this is perfect timing! Wouldn’t object in the least if you chose to post a Frank soup picture with every post from now on. 🙂 Slurp!

That’s just really sad.
When I was twelve we moved house. The moving truck arrived at the old house, my bedroom boxes were the first to be loaded. At the other end of the journey the truck was unloaded but there was about two boxes still on the truck. The adults [movers & parents] stood around talking, at the opening of the truck. I looked at the boxes and at the adults and back again, wondering why they weren’t unloading my boxes. I should have said something, but I was scared to interrupt and raise my voice. And that was that, beloved toys that I took good care of were gone.

I say this is the last place I’ll “break into” and I think it’s true, at least for now. This house was less about discovery and documentation and more about realizing I was once one of those people, even though I was a baby at the time.

Too many times I’ve run into the same story. My desire to go into old empty houses stems from my ten-year-old self, eager for adventure. Unfortunately, I keep running into my four-year-old self, who sees the house she was born in just across the driveway and knows it may as well be on the moon.

This B&E stirred emotions that bothered me–guilt in peering at someone else’s misfortune, and a reminder that I’d been in that situation myself when I was very young. The left-behind HP book reminded me of the powerlessness of children.

I would say this eviction, if that’s what it was, took place about 15 years ago. Maybe 10. When a house isn’t lived in it goes down very quickly.

As I commented above, the things left behind reminded me of the things we had to leave behind when we had to move. Even though we moved next door, we couldn’t get those things. They belonged to the new family.

The sight of that book made me feel sad, too. Surely they could have found room for that book–there were other books scattered around but no other children’s book. This post reminded me of the things my sister and I had to leave behind when we were moved out of our house. You never get them back and you never forget them.

I took that photo just for you! I said, Jama needs to see you eating soup again! He’s frowning a little because the beef in his beef vegetable soup is hamburger.