Category Archives: red house

The Surreality of Home

  I went home today. I don’t know what I can tell you about the surreality of it. Some things were so familiar. Some were much smaller. Some were a sucker punch. Some I’d like to bottle. Some were gone. … Continue reading

Posted in memoir writing, penny jar, places, red house, Weird | Tagged , , , | 12 Comments

Wordless Wednesday: Down by the creek

Posted in places, red house, Wordless Wednesday | 2 Comments

Of bridges and magical things

And there’s more. I walked along the bike path that skirts the empty field next to our old house. The path wasn’t there back then, the trees and brush had only rudimentary foot paths worn down by kids and teenagers … Continue reading

Posted in memoir writing, penny jar, places, red house | Tagged , , | 6 Comments

Writing to strangers

It hasn’t been a month since I sent this letter, but I’m feeling apprehensive. I’m feeling frantic. Because of my personal connection with the house, because one of my sisters met a (former?) resident a few years ago who offered … Continue reading

Posted in memoir writing, places, red house | Tagged , | 13 Comments

Somnambulant

Again I’m called back to the house in my sleep.  But I’m outside and the house is still red with white shutters.  It’s been painted the ugliest burnt sage for years now, even longer than years, decades.  We’ve been gone … Continue reading

Posted in divorce, ma, memoir writing, memory, Project Placement, red house | Tagged , , , , , , | 18 Comments

Throw me Thursday: Whiskey-Money-Doll

@karriehiggins (Karrie’s blog) took a play on words from a conversation we’d been having about an old Twilight Zone episode that still haunts me from way back, Talking Tina. Karrie said, “@EVictoriaF Keep “whiskey money doll” in mind for your … Continue reading

Posted in coffee, Dad, divorce, father, ma, mother, red house, relationships, sister, Throw me Thursday, truth | Tagged , , , , , | 16 Comments

Occupying Time

As a kid I believed in amnesia.  Thanks to Bugs Bunny and Elmer Fudd I knew if I got a conk on the head I could forget myself completely and all it would take was another conk to make me … Continue reading

Posted in interstate, memory, red house | Tagged , , | 5 Comments