“What is a kiss? Why this, as some approve: The sure, sweet cement, glue, and lime of love.” Robert Herrick
I have achieved a “first” in my life today. I have been readying my family home for its sale, with help from friends and family, over the last few years. And it’s been an experience I will never forget, never regret, and yes, well, frankly… Never want to experience again.
To catch you up with today, unknowingly the story really starts with a little old family farm; a gentlemen’s farm I called home for my childhood and young womanhood for a score or more: Myself, my brother, sister, Mother and Father: all in the bubble of black and white television sitcoms portraying our ilk; the mink wrap of warm and fuzzy; the artistic wash of one family’s living color. Do not let me lead you down the garden path—we were not perfect, there were differences of every kind imaginable; there were moments of jealously; pouts; well, you know… family.
Looking back, the stories which seemed so insurmountable as a young girl, are really the stories that came with me into my adulthood. We had a Norwegian elkhound, Duke was his name…sent to us from Norway by some executive which took a liking to my Father. We loved Duke; Duke loved us. Christmas came with a new electric shaver for my Father and I had never seen one before. I was completely fascinated by that razor and I got it stuck in my six year old mind—so would Duke. Yes, Duke got the shave of his life; I got a lecture, and I should mention while I profess such a confession…. My Mother’s new terry-cloth bath tells also got the shave of their life—as short lived as it was.
There was a time when I was in Jr. High where my parents bought a naugahyde couch for the play room. Ah yes, the old naugahyde couch. Not only was it naugahyde, where a practical family could wash it off when children spilled something; it folded out and became a bed: my Mother’s dream come true. The problem was, it was a certain someone’s most un-favorite thing in the house; bar none. Yes, I found it an embarrassment and it occurred to me one day, while ironing my skating skirt, I just bet I could take this hot iron and melt a series of holes in the back rest of the couch. You know, I was right and three days later, I hear those dulcet tones of my Mother’s screech: “Robin Renee’, get in here right now!” She didn’t raise an idiot, I knew immediately what I was up for and why.
Until my Father and Uncle built two extra rooms on to the house, I had to share a room with my sister. We weren’t good bedfellows at all. She, six years my elder; I couldn’t have possibly been a picnic and I can accept that. In fact, truth be known, I relished in it. I was fascinated by two things which were within my sister’s possession: One her fishnets and two her portable hi-fi and Columbia records. Both of which I was NEVER allowed to touch, that is, never allowed to touch with her in the room.
It was a sunny afternoon I decided the kitten litter of six might want to try to figure out the maze of fishnets….I won’t go into the details, but you should at least know that kittens don’t navigate fishnets any better than I do. It was a different sunny afternoon when my sister got the new Beach Boy’s Little Deuce Coup album. I remember it as if it were yesterday, her last lovely words as she left for a date: “And Mom, DON’T let Robin play my new album on my record player.” To this day, my sister has never understood the power her words had on me as a young girl. I heard the car crackle out the gravel driveway and I swiftly flew back to our bedroom and put the album on. Dancing in some discovered fishnets, music full blast: honestly, I thought I was Talent’s one and only go-go girl. When the moon decided to peek over Mount Ashland, it was my call to sweep my tracks so she’d never know. Fishnets, neatly put away in her I drawer and it was when I heard the squeak of the wood as I quietly slid the drawer close, it struck me: hairspray! That’s it, I’ll spray the albums with hairspray before I put them back in their sleeves. Next day, sure enough, “Mom! Robin!” I am not a seer, yet I knew exactly what was around the corner of my future. It was worth watching the needle dance across that vinyl… not a groove to be found.
There are a million and one stories I lived in our old family farm; my brother breaking a collar bone; hauling hay and clearing our fields before vacation; learning how to drive; ride a bike; crying in my Mother’s arms because of heart ache; my father’s arms because I lied to him. A lot of lessons; a lot of laughter; a lot of bright ideas and a few so dim… they eclipsed any human logic.
My Father, my wonderful Father, died in that house and when my Mother became ill and came to live with Gary and I, squatters broke in and lived there; robbed her every treasure and what wasn’t robbed, was broken to smithereens…. It took us 3 years to prepare for this sale; a lot of sacrifice, difference and heartaches; all the while believing when we arrived at the signing table it would be a relief, a moment to exhale and celebrate.
But what I found was yes—a relief from this arduous odyssey, but more, I traversed again all the family moments which not only warmed me; but also scared me. I realized that there would be no more going home, in ways I understand what it is to be going home. No more bringing the family together under that roof which sheltered children, wide-eyed and the dreams of a family. It wasn’t just a house, it was the framing of my family. It is part of my soul; part of my akeshic record. It is the house that defined me. And though not one memory can be taken from me, how amusing to understand that it was my glue. It was another kiss full of love.
Glue and kisses, two words unlikely, and beautiful when they come together naturally.