where that place used to be

Just over four years ago, my guy and I traveled to Lakeport, California where I was born. I hadn't been there since I was 12. As we walked and drove around, I had this weird déjà vu, I-remember-this-place thing happening. I tried to find my paternal grandparents home, but where that placed used to be no longer existed. Instead, there was an empty lot with only a block retaining wall still standing. The big cedar tree was there, strong and tall.

where that place used to be is now a vacant lot

a crumbling retaining wall borders the edge

remnants of an old barbecue, a bird bath

weeds and a few scraggly shrubs

an old rose with scant petals, but many hips

when I closed my eyes, it all returned

the white two-story house with kitchen at the back

wooden screen door that slammed as kids ran in and out

potato salad and chicken fried up in a big cast iron skillet

laundry hung on the whirly line in the yard

at noon the firehouse siren would sound

we'd run in maniac circles until the noise stopped

a big cedar tree stood next door

the branches a makeshift swing for barefoot children

bronzed in the California sun

my grandparents lived in this house

so did my aunt while my uncle was deployed

i spent time there

playing with cousins, walking to school, swimming in the lake

where that place used to be is now a preserved memory

Returning more recently, Lakeport was familiar, with less déjà vu. There was a comfortable simplicity as we explored different areas while enjoying past memories. Funny how the familiar gets lost in the years, but re-acquaintance comes naturally and with ease.

Missy

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