Here, at 121 Blue Ridge Dr., was where the seed was planted; my thoughts to post about the 3 homes in/near Warrenton, from our engagement until our move in late 1975.
When we left for VA to celebrate Mike's 75th, I couldn't have known that this trip would be so much more than reuniting with old, dear friends; that this trip would also be very much about revisiting our past.
Dad and I arrived late afternoon in Warrenton. After settling in at the hotel we decided to drive around, mostly to see the "old" Warrenton we had left behind over 40 years ago. We approached the main drag, so pleased to find that not much had changed. Extending to either side, East or West, and it's all built up, as I mentioned in my earlier posts. Commercialism, housing and highways upon highways. But the original Broadview ~ our original Broadview Ave ~ was pleasantly familiar to us.
"Let's see if the old office building is still there," mused Dad as we passed the grocery store, still there, and the Motel, still there, Friendly's, still there, and the McDonald's across the street, still there, and so many other small commercial businesses, blessedly untouched. And there it was...the same building where Triumph Magazine moved in mid-1971.
Dad recognized the door at the end of the building right away. (It's now a veterinary office). As we drove into the parking lot, Dad pointed to a window, "That was your Mother's office," and while I looked up at the window, memories began to flood in. My brief stint working there; the day I walked in to show off my engagement ring; the afternoon I walked in Dad's office to find him planning our honeymoon in Nova Scotia; and the many, many times I walked in with Maureen and Clare in the stroller, to say hello to Dad, after walking from our home at 121 Blue Ridge. "I used to walk here all the time with the girls. Do you remember?" He did. And then he offered, "Want to look for the house?"
I admit that until that moment I hadn't even considered visiting 121 Blue Ridge. I think, looking at the door to the old Triumph office, I was slightly overwhelmed by all the memories ~ before and after marriage ~ before and after kiddies ~ just a flooding of memories that had me not realizing "WE ARE IN WARRENTON WITH TIME TO KILL AND WE CAN VISIT OUR HOMES!" I was so unprepared for these memories, hadn't expected the surge of emotions that would later accompany me during our visit to VA.
My heart jumped a beat and I swear that heart beat faster. "Really? We can do this?"
We followed the road past the office, me looking at the sidewalk where I used to push the stroller, while Dad located the road to the left that would take us to the residential area where we lived. Taking that turn, we drove just a short distance before we came upon Blue Ridge Dr, on the left. (We couldn't remember the name of the road we had lived on but were almost positive this was it, as further down the road just didn't ring any bells). So we took that left onto Blue Ridge Dr., drove and scanned the homes on the left. Nothing jumped out. But then I saw the porch. The porch on the left of a white house that looked battered and worn. I pointed to it but Dad said, no, that wasn't our house. I had to agree. Our house didn't look as forlorn as this house did. "We must be on the wrong road," said Dad, as we approached the end of the drive without having found our house. I mentioned the house with the porch. Dad couldn't remember having a porch, which shocked me. "Of COURSE we had a porch. I have pictures of you and the girls on that porch...". But he had no memory of a porch. I asked him to turn around and drive back on Blue Ridge.
And there it was, the house I had seen, OUR house, so sad looking since we last saw it, the day we moved out so many years ago. Compared to every single house on the street ~ both sides of that street ~ 121 Blue Ridge was an eye sore. We stopped at the end of the driveway and I pointed out the porch to Dad. "I'll take your word for it, but I don't remember a porch,"said Dad, still not convinced this was our house. We drove up the driveway and the side of the house began to look familiar to both of us and we knew it; this was our house. We knew, because of the porch (for me) but especially because of the little walkway that lead to the kitchen from the driveway, where we used to park Calpurnia.
POOR HOUSE :(
The porch was sagging and weeds and grass had taken over the driveway
We sat quietly in the car, commenting on the mess and on the fact that yes, we had found our house and yes, we probably should leave.
Back at the hotel, Dad googled the address and saw the listing. When I read it I had to chuckle because the house was described as a RAMBLER and I had forgotten that down South, RANCH houses are called Ramblers :)
Something stirred deep inside me as we drove away from that once pretty and now dilapidated property. This had been our home, albeit a rental. I know Dad missed Free State Farm and the land and his projects. But we were about to out-grow the house (with Cy on the way) and it just made sense to live in town.
This house. Something about this house. In the 40+ years since we left, I had never really gone back there in my mind. But Friday afternoon, driving away from that house, something I couldn't describe or contain spilled out of me. That spilling, combined with a deep sadness for the condition of the house, stayed with me throughout the evening and into the night.
Saturday morning in Warrenton and we had time to kill, again, before Mike's party. We decided we were going to look for Free State Farm again. It was then I asked Dad could we go back to 121 Blue Ridge? I just had to see it again. Just one more time.
Initially we had no intention of ignoring the NO TRESSPASSING sign and walking in. Initially we only planned to drive up and maybe take some pictures. (pics above I took that Saturday) The front of the house was unrecognizable to me. So much so that I couldn't bring myself to walk up the path to the front door. The best I could brave was to take a picture of Dad:
Well. We walked back to the car and just as we got in, Dad said, "You want to see if we can look inside?" OMG, please!!! And we so drove up the driveway and I stayed in the car as Dad walked up the little pathway to the side entrance. He tried the door and it was unlocked!
In we went. And off went the alarms!!! We hesitated for a moment and then ignored them and kept walking. A few steps in and to the right was the entrance to the kitchen. It bore no resemblance to the kitchen we knew. Same space, but completely different in every other way.
You can see the door to the kitchen, which we never closed. Walking into the kitchen, the table was against the wall. To the left (where Clare is in her highchair) was the sink and extended black counters with white cabinets.
The fridge was on the other side of the table, what faced you as soon as you entered the room.
The walls were tiled half-way up in black, the floors black and white checkerboard. All of that is gone now. A washer and dryer are now where our fridge was, the counters white, cabinets and floor a non-descript light wood.
I take a step back when I walk into this room. I'm almost reeling. The room was unrecognizable and awful.
The alarms seem to be ringing louder as Dad walks into the living room and I stay planted in this kitchen that isn't my kitchen anymore; I can't look at it anymore. My mind shifts gears and here, where you see Maureen and Clare, is where I stand, looking into the dining room and straight to the door ...
that leads to the porch. Here it is now.
And here,
And here,
in 1975. Yes, Cy, we had a porch ! :)
I walk back inside to the dining room from the porch and more memories come back: I'd forgotten how beautiful the floors were.
Here a good look at the dining room set I mentioned in my earlier post; the wedding present from some of the men at Triumph.
Standing there, just where you see Maureen, (and alarms continuing to scream at us), I'm transported back in time. From where I'm standing, I can see the entire length of the living room area. This side, that connects right off the dining room, is where I kept the playpen and was a toy area for the girls. 3 weeks later, as I pour over pictures of that time, more memories surface. That basket. I'd forgotten about that basket that was a favorite peek-a-boo place for blocks and stuffed animals and little toys. Maureen carried that basket everywhere.
And Clare had so much fun with that basket, opening and closing the lids, throwing toys out and putting them back in.
Alarms going off, now at a higher pitch, and I see Dad at then end of the living room, in front of the large front door, heading left, down the hall to the master bedroom. But I'm glued to that spot between the dining room and the living room...
Remembering...
and remembering.
On the far wall was a built-in where we kept books, our stereo equipment and newspapers for the fireplace.
Another favorite pastime was to crawl into the fireplace and play with the ashes. It was around this time that Maureen came up with the word, "Godell!", which signified to Dad and me that something not-so-good was about to happen. In other words, nothing HAD happened, but we were put on notice that it MIGHT happen.
One morning, while we were having coffee, Maureen walked into the kitchen and announced her "Godell!" in a voice that demanded immediate attention. Dad and I hurried into the living room. In the exact instant that we saw Clare in the fireplace, she saw us. And in that exact instant she bolted ~ leapt out of the fireplace onto the floor. Her face, hands and clothes were covered in ashes. Her expression one of, "What? I didn't do anything?" To this day Dad and I chuckle at the memory ~ that girl flew!
I should hurry through the living room and meet Dad in the hall (alarms, alarms!), but I can't. I'm stuck in the past. I'm thrown by the myriad of emotions and scenes from the past playing in my head. But I can't linger ~ I have to see the rest of the house.
Our bedroom is to the right, down the hall. There's a little hall past the bedroom door, with a small bathroom on the right. (Yes, we had our very own en-suite!) The bathroom looks different. The stained glass window wasn't there when we were there. I pass into the bedroom and am transported again. We had a little black and white TV propped on a stand in the bedroom. We weren't big TV people but we did enjoy a few select shows. Our favorite? "The Streets of San Francisco," with Karl Malden and a very young Michael Douglas. "Streets in on!" was our weekly call, me to Dad or Dad to me.
OMG those alarms! A look crosses between Dad and me and we know we have to leave the house before we're caught. I make one last dash out of our bedroom, down the hall, because I have to see the rest of the bedrooms and the bathroom. (Coming into the house from the side entrance we always took, the rest of the rooms were on the left at the end of the entryway. Right around the corner of the entryway was the door to the basement where we had the washer and dryer.)
I make it as far as the wood paneled room and, again, stop in my tracks:
When Maureen graduated to a bed, this was her bedroom. The bed was from my bedroom, before I married Dad.
Again, I'm fixed to the spot. Was the room really this big? Dad grabs my hand, we have to GO!
And it haunted me, still haunts me, that I didn't run down the hall and quickly look at the remaining rooms. I have only this to remind me:
Past Maureen's room is the bathroom. (That's cousin Matt in the bath with the girls.) Again, the black tiles :)
Dad and I hurry out the door, down the walkway, into the safety of the car and make quick time leaving the driveway and heading out to find Free State Farm.
You've seen pictures of 121 Blue Ridge and how it looks today.
This was back then: Granny with the girls in the hoodies she bought for them....waiting for Cy to be born.
I mentioned that seeing the front of the house in it's present condition had really thrown me. I tried to recall any time we might have spent in the front yard. Did we ever use the walkway? No memories whatsoever until I came across these:
Yes, Maureen and Clare played out front a lot of the time. It was a lovely front yard.
The entire drive home on Sunday and my heart was still back at 121 Blue Ridge Dr. Not once had I re-visited that house beyond a cursory memory. A pleasant memory, but a fleeting memory.
So what was it about 121 Blue Ridge that struck such a deep chord as soon as I saw it 3 weeks ago?
This house. Something about this house.
3 years into Marriage and 3 children later and I was good with all of it. I'd be lying if I told you it had been a seamless transition; Marriage and children took some getting used to. But once here, at 121 Blue Ridge, I had adjusted and things were coming together.
I remember being happy when we lived there. The house fit us like a glove. I was closer to town and closer to friends. I could walk to Dad's office. I had a babysitter and lovely Lavinia Washington came in once a week to do heavy cleaning. When she came, I left the girls with her and would drive out to spend the morning with Mary Jo.
But the sense of stability at home belied the foreboding of sorts that permeated everywhere else. A foreboding that had much to do with Triump Magazine's faltering circulation and everything to do with Granner's increasing mood swings and detachment from reality. Dad was questioning his role at Triumph. Foundations were shifting and lives were about to change.
But the sense of stability at home belied the foreboding of sorts that permeated everywhere else. A foreboding that had much to do with Triump Magazine's faltering circulation and everything to do with Granner's increasing mood swings and detachment from reality. Dad was questioning his role at Triumph. Foundations were shifting and lives were about to change.
I hadn't realized how content I was living at the house...until we had to leave. It was a long time before I confided to Dad that the night before we moved, unable to sleep, I cried and cried on the living room couch. I had felt settled when we lived at 121 Blue Ridge. Even as outside of my little world things were changing, I was secure in the fact that my world was OK. I was 24 years old. Dad and I were building our own foundations. That heart warming foundation, that sense of being settled, was taking hold. And then, like a flash, it was taken away.
Because we couldn't have known, couldn't have imagined then, how the crumbling structures around us would affect our lives when we pulled out of the driveway of 121 Blue Ridge for the last time, early Fall of 1975.
Because we couldn't have known, couldn't have imagined then, how the crumbling structures around us would affect our lives when we pulled out of the driveway of 121 Blue Ridge for the last time, early Fall of 1975.
And so this was why. This was why, when I looked back, THAT HOUSE stirred so much, deep inside of me:
This house represented a landmark in our growing years; the last place we lived before Granner was diagnosed as manic/depressive; the last place we lived before Triumph magazine folded; the last place we lived before Dad went out to sea to make a living. The last place we lived before everything changed.
We all have before and after moments/events in our lives. Traveling back to 121 Blue Ridge Dr. reminded me that this house was something I had never marked as the beginning of one of the most dramatic before and after's in our young married life. But now I see it so clearly: this was it, at least for me:
That there had been a sense of innocence when we lived at 121 Blue Ridge Dr. An innocence that never returned. Which is not to say, ever, that what came later and what is now, is not good.
But that sense of innocence? Is it any wonder that my heart skips a beat when I look back to 121 Blue Ridge Dr.?
PS.
Triumph Magazine folded in the Fall of 1975.
Dad and I moved to the guest house at my family home early Fall of 1975, 1) to save on rent and 2) so that I wouldn't be alone, so that I could be close to my family while Dad went out to sea, which, back then, we hoped would be a temporary fix. This decision proved to be a terrible and heart breaking choice.
Granner was officially diagnosed as manic/depressive in January of 1976 and experienced a full blown manic episode shortly after.
Dad took his first job sailing (3 wks on, 3 wks. off) that same January.
The foundations that had begun to shift in 1975, cracked wide open early 1976.
My own foundations crumbled:
My husband was gone. My father, for all intents and purposes, was gone. My mother was a crazy mess. My family was almost unrecognizable. Our close friends and colleagues were scattered all over the place. Everything I had known, all my constants, were upside down and inside out.
I learned I was pregnant with Annie in Feb. of 1976, and by late Spring we knew we had to leave.
Ed Andrews (Annie's Godfather and a close friend of Dad's) and his family lived in Charleston, SC, which was also a sea port.
We left VA and moved to Charleston S.C. late August, 1976, a few short weeks before Annie was born.
We all have before and after moments/events in our lives. Traveling back to 121 Blue Ridge Dr. reminded me that this house was something I had never marked as the beginning of one of the most dramatic before and after's in our young married life. But now I see it so clearly: this was it, at least for me:
That there had been a sense of innocence when we lived at 121 Blue Ridge Dr. An innocence that never returned. Which is not to say, ever, that what came later and what is now, is not good.
But that sense of innocence? Is it any wonder that my heart skips a beat when I look back to 121 Blue Ridge Dr.?
PS.
Triumph Magazine folded in the Fall of 1975.
Dad and I moved to the guest house at my family home early Fall of 1975, 1) to save on rent and 2) so that I wouldn't be alone, so that I could be close to my family while Dad went out to sea, which, back then, we hoped would be a temporary fix. This decision proved to be a terrible and heart breaking choice.
Granner was officially diagnosed as manic/depressive in January of 1976 and experienced a full blown manic episode shortly after.
Dad took his first job sailing (3 wks on, 3 wks. off) that same January.
The foundations that had begun to shift in 1975, cracked wide open early 1976.
My own foundations crumbled:
My husband was gone. My father, for all intents and purposes, was gone. My mother was a crazy mess. My family was almost unrecognizable. Our close friends and colleagues were scattered all over the place. Everything I had known, all my constants, were upside down and inside out.
I learned I was pregnant with Annie in Feb. of 1976, and by late Spring we knew we had to leave.
Ed Andrews (Annie's Godfather and a close friend of Dad's) and his family lived in Charleston, SC, which was also a sea port.
We left VA and moved to Charleston S.C. late August, 1976, a few short weeks before Annie was born.
PPS. A few days after we returned from our trip to VA, I revisited the listing of 121 Blue Ridge Dr and saw that on the very Friday we had found the house, it had been sold! There's an adjoining property connected to the back of the house. The framed black and white pictures of Maureen and Clare that we have on the wall in the kitchen were taken by the photographer who lived there, with his wife, when we lived there. We shared a driveway but otherwise the "joined" properties were very independent, one from the other. This was another landmark that confirmed for us that this was our house, when we first drove in.
Oh. And 3 Netflix disks arrived today: "The Streets of San Francisco" !!
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