Thomas Wolfe wrote “You Can’t Go Home Again”. His experience was vastly different from mine; his protagonist’s town turned against him. My house just got smaller.

Still, it held stories and memories, which I won’t share here but choose to hold back for possible eventual blackmail purposes.

My darling husband wanted a surprise birthday experience for me – we stopped trying to buy each other surprise gifts long ago – so he arranged for a visit back to my childhood home, my high school, and the skating rink where I spent my formative years, and embarrassingly had a Zamboni machine named after me. This trip down memory lane wasn’t just for the two of us – he invited my closest girlfriends and cousins Anita and Claudia and hired a white stretch limo. And bought Champagne. Lots and lots of Champagne.

The house where I lived and attended grades 4 through high school graduation was a 3 bedroom split-level which we all remembered to be HUGE. Or, I guess, we were smaller. Walking into it today was an eye opener; Anita and I kept looking at each other with eyebrows up to our hairlines. Of course the décor had completely changed with the exception of my mother’s favorite wallpaper from 1966 which was still on the kitchen walls. I’m told it is common, that our childhood homes are all much smaller than we recall. Still, it held stories and memories, which I won’t share here but choose to hold back for possible eventual blackmail purposes.

Riding around in a yummy limo drinking Champagne with my friends on a beautiful sunny and cold day was a hoot. And a stop at Fort Phoenix in Fairhaven reminded me of how lucky we are to live where we do. The sun shining off of Buzzard’s Bay, Butler’s Flat lighthouse in the distance and a fishing trawler on its way to the open ocean are everyday occurrences we take for granted, but on this day we fully appreciated them. Toasted to them, even.

I refer to Fairhaven High School as our own personal Hogwarts. Built in 1906 by Henry Huddleston Rogers (of Standard Oil fame) as a gift to the town of Fairhaven it was like entering a castle every day. My cousin Michael, also an alum, showed a photo to a friend who asked, “Did you have a quidditch team?” The slick marble stairs have since been recovered with a rubberized, non-skid surface, but I’ll always have memories of my friend Jacky maneuvering them on 4” platform heels that would have made Elton John jealous. Room 7, the senior homeroom is still magnificent, and the stained glass windows still inspire awe. And interestingly, most of the group had never been inside even after living in the area most of their lives. It was the highlight of the day. My old hangout, the art room – basically a throwaway room just under the clock tower – has been replaced in the new extension by rooms and rooms of art labs and equipment. I’m glad to see the expansion, but those kids will never experience the tight knit art community we had in our tiny hideaway. Or the lessons in art and life given by the amazing Joe Rapoza.

Off to the Hetland Arena, the skating rink my dad managed when I was a kid. I was a rink rat, there as much as I could be, skating, watching hockey games, disavowing that it was my name on the Zamboni. Not sure what my dad was thinking, but naming a small square truck after your teenage daughter is never a good idea. Many memories, some cringe-worthy, came flooding back. Nothing another couple of bottles of Champagne couldn’t take care of.

We ended our trip down memory lane at our current house, with dinner of Riccardi’s lasagna and antipasto and a birthday cake with a 3 and a 6 candle on it. 36? Steve says that’s how old I act. I love my husband.

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Next up – Photos from the 11-24 Birthday Bash!

 

Wishing you all an amazing Thanksgiving,

Deborah