I can't figure out how to title this post, so for now it won't have one. Or perhaps I should borrow the line from Kurt Cobain "come as you are", which the city council of Aberdeen (his home town, and next-door-town to my hometown), was snookered into putting on the "welcome to....." sign as you arrive. The story goes the suggestion to honor Kurt by using one of his lyrics was voted down, so someone suggested come as you are, and everyone thought that was a fine idea, and much less controversial than words from some dead druggie. But that phrase doesn't really capture what I'm going to try and say..."STAY as you are" would be more fitting. At least that is one of the feelings I get when there, that things don't change, and things or people who do are viewed rather suspiciously. I realize I am not objective, and all these impressions may be mine alone and unconnected to real life there. But as soon as we drive into town, I'm ready to leave. I feel suffocated and anxious. Maybe it's just the past that I want to get away from...actually, i think that is part of it, but not all as I get similar claustrophobic feelings in other small towns. In thinking about it I believe it has to do with not having options, feeling trapped.

As you may have noticed the two houses pictured are distinctly different, yet both represent aspects of my childhood. I'm also using their differentness as an illustration of my conflicting feelings regarding the place I spent those years of growing up. All this is on my mind because we spent two days visiting family there right before christmas. I have a sibling who has built a life there, and there are aspects I really admire about that choice. I just couldn't do it, and needed out of there...but that doesn't mean it can't be the right choice for others.

So, the houses...the ramshackle peeling paint one illustrates in some way how I feel when there..."going back", almost like traveling back in time...or like a time warp where parallel paths have moved along, but that one stood still yet decayed all at once...and so many of my memories of growing up there are of dampness and rain, grey skies, that distinctive smell of wet cement, an empty feeling inside---not unique to being there, yet always magnified when there............................And then the red house...well, that's where I lived from age 11 to 18. It felt like longer than seven years. I guess it's in that way that time is longer when you are a child. They are truly formative years, the childhood ones, and I'm still trying to make sense of them and sort them out, and see the good and the not so much. The house, "The Castle" as it was known in town (a big fish in a small pond), so tidy outside and in (my sister and I did most of the housecleaning), tidy like a museum as that's what it was (has since been made into a bed & breakfast: www.hoquiamscastle.com )...yet we lived there, and didn't know quite how to do it with strangers walking through and peering into our lives and rooms and closets. "Don't you just love living here??" so many of them asked...well, actually, NO...and if you thought about it for even a nanosecond you'd realize no teenager, nor really anyone, would want to live in a place with no sign of themselves, no privacy, being looked at all the time, with the added requirement of escorting people (for the entrace fee, of course) through the rooms---with a smile and good attitude, goddamnit. Home was a castle, but it was no haven.

And Mom (Dad), if you read this, please know I love you, I truly know you were doing your best, and it wasn't all bad. It was hard, I wouldn't have picked it, I would rather do without my right arm than ever live in that town again, but oh well, it gives me an interesting story as not too many people can say they grew up in a castle.