Blasts from the Pasts

I don't know if we're officially empty nesters or not, but we're sure behaving like we are. I think nowadays you are considered a "successful" empty nesters only after a period of, say, five consecutive years have passed without a child at home. But we don't care. We are doing what we please, when we please and we are pleased to say that it's agreeing with us. Today we decided to do a little road trip back to the town where I lived the first twelve years of my life, Marshall, MO, situated about 70 miles east of KC.

We took the scenic route on Highway 24 to Marshall (we hopped on I-70 for the return trip). We stopped in Waverly, where we got some freshly picked Jonathan apples that will no doubt find themselves in a pie soon. We drove through Grand Pass, one of the tiny hamlets where my dad did an itinerant preaching gig for several years. His claim to fame during that time of his life? Getting indoor plumbing for all the churches. Yes, I spent many a Sunday planting my bum on splintery outhouse potties, always in great fear that a spider or snake was going to interrupt me. Anyway, we got to Marshall around 11:30 and spent the first hour or so driving around town, with me saying, "Slow down! Slow down!" I was amazed at how small everything was and how very different it all looked. When I was a kid I thought the block we lived on was really long, but it's not. I almost missed our house, but once I found it I could identify almost every house on the block. It was a neighborhood full of kids and we spent many summer nights playing kick the can in the Fischer's front yard, or capture the flag between our house and the Yaeger's. It really was like a scene taken right out of "The Wonder Years."

We then made our way across town to the first house I ever lived in on Eastwood, a beautiful street lined with absolutely fabulous homes that still make my heart stop. My good friend, Susan, and her folks bought the house after we moved out, so I really have more memories of that house when they lived in it than when I did (I was five when we moved). To my surprise, it was for sale (as was our other house - how weird is that?). Ron called the realtor and found out that it was empty. He said that I had lived in the house years ago and told her my name and she said she'd be glad to take us through it. Turns out my dad was supposed to perform her wedding but had a flat tire and arrived after the wedding was over (another minister was on hand). It was wonderful to be able to walk through that house and have the memories come flooding back. The beautiful dining room and living room, big foyer and big staircase, the back "servant's" stairs . . . I remember watching Kennedy's funeral on TV in my parent's bedroom (really not happy that Captain Kangaroo wasn't on). My brother and I are both adopted and I remember quite vividly (or maybe I remember quite vividly being told) that I told the social worker who was making a home visit that she could just take that baby back. I wasn't having it. We were on the screened in porch, which has now been enclosed. The upstairs bedrooms were tiny, tiny, tiny and we thought the asking price of $185,000 was a bit steep because there was quite a bit of cosmetic work that needed to be done.

We drove through the city park, which is really huge and still beautiful. The very cool swimming pool is still there, with its classic art deco design. I remember thinking when I was a kid that it had to be the biggest pool in the world. It's still pretty big but has acquired several slides and other bells and whistles that kids today seem to need. All we needed was water and a dime for a frozen Snickers. The playground we spent hours was still there and I'm pretty sure most of the merry-go-rounds and tee totters were the same ones I played on. I'm thinking that it's probably not very safe, not to mention probably loaded with lead-based paint! We then headed downtown. Marshall has an old-fashioned square with a stately courthouse in the middle. It seems like there were weekly ice cream socials during the summer and frequent Midnight Madness or sidewalk sales. Sadly, the area has become rather a lonely place. The only familiar businesses were the banks. One of the girls who lived two doors up from us (one of the Fischers, whose front yard was used in kick the can games) owns an antique store so I spent an hour talking to her and her sister (who used to babysit me), reviving memories and finding out who was still around. Ron and her husband took off down the street to look at another building they own, the old Marshall Hotel. Ron came back drooling and, of course, now wants to move to Marshall.

It really was a perfect day. All day long, little flashes of the past kept firing in my brain and I remembered people I hadn't thought of in years. Throughout the day I found myself being filled with really deep, deep joy. I think revisiting places of my past that hold warm memories affirms who I am today and helps shore up the core values that my parents instilled in me. I feel so so blessed.