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Lilac and Honeysuckle

Nothing lasts forever and time just never stays still, no matter how hard you try, no matter your determination or will. And life goes marching on and the children have long since grown and the old house is now the old home, we should be grateful for the warmth that it's shown. Our substance is in every nail, our very essence, scents the air and every room has it's tale to tell, there's a wonderful recollection just waiting there. There's a lot of love in the paint and this is where we all learned to dance and we'd gladly live those years again, but sadly, we'll never get that chance. When you didn't know where to go, you always had 919 Green Lane and now those times are gone forever, but I guess nothing ever stays the same. And that house became a home, a home to mother, father, sister and brother and sadly, we'll no longer come here, but we'll still have our memories (and each other). So maybe it's time we looked back, looked back through that magical looking glass and remember some of our wonderful memories and have a wistful look at our past. We all had a wonderful childhood here and the same feeling carried through our adult years, so many magical thoughts come flooding back, at times, it's hard to hold back the tears. Ten High School graduations, days filled with immeasurable pride and we couldn't have picked finer parents, we couldn't - even if we'd tried. It's been the scene of many a shower, weddings, babies, remarkable times, one of the many reasons we'll be sad to go and just one of the reasons for these rhymes. Five floors was an adventurous playground, growing up, that's what we certainly thought, we used to tie sheets from the third floor landing and swing down to the second (and yup, we got caught). We used to roller-skate in the house and basement and take mattresses and slide down the stairs, we had irrepressible youth on our side and with it that wonderful feeling of "Who Cares?" We've had so many secret parties here, the mice partied while the cats were away, so much fun in such a short time and some secrets will never see the light of day. Holidays were always so very special, Christmas time, in our pajamas, sitting around the fire, memories that will last a lifetime and when you're low, they'll always lift you higher. I remember the trailer in camping season, we've had many a trip and many exciting days and in the cooler and colder months, how it became an exciting room for overnight stays. We've never had air conditioning and in the summer it can get pretty hot, but what better excuse is there, to sleep on the porch in your own cot? I remember swimming in the pool all day and the pool was run by "what's his name", but I do remember Dad cutting up the watermelon and we would sit and watch a baseball game. And the leg grabber in the basement, is still waiting patiently by the window, I guess we should warn the next owners, best leave a note before we go. Also, 919 has witnessed nine grandchildren, sons, daughters, nieces and nephews to some, all blessed by the love and warmth of this family and it's all thanks to you, Dad and Mom. And this old house is made up of many bricks, in fact, too many to individually list, twenty seven if you include Pookie the dog and, she of course, could never be missed. Sometimes a house is just a house, bricks, mortar, wood and nails and I guess every house has a story, I guess every house has it's own tales. But when a house becomes a home, the foundations become a part of you and the rooms and the hallways, have memories of the challenges you've been through. And the mortar is strengthened by our spirits, it's a strength that won't be shaken, it too has absorbed our joy and happiness, has witnessed our trials and jubilation. Lilac and honeysuckle will always smell so sweet, their fine aromas will forever be in my heart and our memories will now be our bricks and mortar and nothing can ever tear those apart. So, thanks Mom and Dad for everything, we'd live this life all over again, thanks, you've been marvelous parents and thanks to you, 919 Green Lane.

Copyright www.agiftofpoetry.co.uk 2008

Allen Jesson

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