Monday, August 25, 2008

the world moves on

Down at the bay. People who have known me any length of time have probably, at one time or another, heard a story from me about something that happened down at the bay. My mother's folks grew up in the country, in the coastal area of Texas. My mom would tell me stories of climbing the windmill because her younger brother did. She told me about the first time she and her brothers ate not-homemade bread... it fell off the bread delivery truck and they picked it up. When they moved into town - Houston - her older brother had to walk in with the cow. Her family kept its roots, though. My grandparents had a place, a cabin, on the waterfront of a bay. They went there every chance they could, weekends, holidays, vacations. My grandfather loved to fish. They caught crabs and shrimp. They always had a vegetable garden. It wasn't fancy, but neither were they.

Hurricane Carla in the early 60's took the house away, but they rebuilt it, up on stilts, so they could get insurance. The house on stilts is the one I remember, faded grey wood siding. A concrete slab under the house, cool in the shade. A perfect place to play, draw, lay a towel out listen to pop songs on the radio. Upstairs, there were 4 rooms: one bedroom, the batheroom, the kitchen - big enough for a table that would seat 12 or more on the benches at each side, and the front room. It went the width of the house. There were two couches, a table, various chairs and beds. Lots of beds. Beds for everyone. The beds were scattered close to the windows, which were always up. Well, except if it was raining from that direction. I can still hear the wind through the screens, and the whistle it would make through a window that was only cracked open. We would go to bed, after a day of swimming and fishing and wading and being outside, our bodies still seemed to move with the rythm of the waves while the lapping of those waves lulled us to sleep.

The bay meant summer vacation. We would leave school on the last day. We wouldn't even go in to get our report cards - they got mailed to the bay. Up before the crack of dawn for a two day road trip. Sometimes we took our trailer. Sometimes we brought friends (usually our parents' friends, and their kids). We would make the obligatory trip into Houston to visit family, and maybe shop. But vacation was at the bay.

Its been thirteen years since I've been down to the coast of Texas. Life gets busy. Money, time and other obligations get in the way, and life moves on. My mom sold her share in the bay house long ago. We didn't live close enough to help with the upkeep. One uncle bought some more share and built a little house downstairs, retired there and raised his granddaughter (who - as far as I know still lives in the area). Another uncle ended up with all of the shares as family split and the grand kids just didn't have time to go there. There were other things going on. A couple of my cousins inherited the bay house when their dad passed away last year. Neither of them were interested in spending time there, and I imagine it stood empty most of the time as everyone was too busy with other things. They put it on the market, and my aunt told me yesterday that she heard from one of them last week, and the bay house had sold.

I grieved. I still grieve. Not for the loss of the building. They were right to sell what they had no interest in keeping or taking care of. I grieved for the past. The happy times. The memories. The people who are no longer here, but who I can picture clearly there, and hear them laughing. Learning to play dominoes with Grannie. Going for a boatride with Grandpa. Trying to learn to ski - and failing. Bouncing on a huge innertube. Diving through the salty waves, digging fingers and toes into the mud beneath. Cooking a big pot of crabs and sharing them. Wearing a bikini for the first - and only - time. The smell of the salt water, the breeze coming off of it. The world moving on.

1 comment:

Fran said...

Oh my, what fabulous memories! And they won't be gone simply because the house is, Sweetie.

Still, there's that little nudge in the back of your head that says "As long as it's there, I could go back. . ."