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Pink tiles

January 27, 2010

My friend’s Sheri and Andrew’s most recent home in Saratoga Springs, NY has a couple elements that remind me of my Grandparent’s old house in Utah. (It’s one I haven’t seen for over 20 years.) Incidentally, this is the home where Sheri and Andrew will have their first baby and their last home in New York before soon moving back to the west coast. There are things I want to remember about the house; like the entry way, brick facade and snow-covered patio. I especially like their bathroom. Namely, the pink tiles in the bathroom and the 50ish wooden door.  I think my grandparent’s had a crazy pink sink though too.  The room had a great big window that opened wide, where one could stand at look at the large back patio and well cultivated garden. (You could talk to someone if they were sitting on the chairs in the back patio while you sat on the toilet, although, I don’t think I ever did.) In the summer the morning sun would come beaming in, flooding the entire bathroom with light and illuminating all the pink tiles. It is winter now and Sheri’s bathroom isn’t so bright, nor does it have the same smell of rose perfume and Oil of Olay that of Bob’s and Doris’ did, but at least it is an older house with a pink tiled bathroom.  And Sheri has a hair dryer too which my Grandma Doris never did.  I remember feeling disappointed by this even as a preteen, but am not sure now if I have just made that up. Memories are weird. I’ve been thinking a lot about both sets of grandparent’s homes lately as I spent so much time with them as a young child and  in remembering details about all the rooms, wish I could go back to photograph them, but there still would be no way to go back and photograph my dithering thoughts.  I guess I should have kept a diary, but I didn’t and I probably wouldn’t have written about that anyways. I can only write now and I can find things in other homes and places that remind me of those details and memories and piece them together.  Perhaps it’s too literal but, fuck it, who cares..for now…maybe it will lead me to something more interesting, or give evidence of something more profound.  Then again, those fragments of images and waves of smells and thoughts weave webs of memories in my head that are making an impression worth just what they are…memories of moments…evidence of some kind of life that I am grateful for   I’m sure I don’t want to relive them, but would like to capture them in a new way while connecting with the people and places in my life now.

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