Those who have read my ‘60s book,
THE ME GENERATION…BY ME know I spent the entire decade in one house in Woodland Hills, California. Needless to say, it is filled with memories (the embarrassing ones are all included in the memoir – in fact, that’s
most of the memories). This was the era of suburban housing developments, and my parents were the first owners. They sold it ten years later.
A few years ago, to promote the book (
BUY the damn thing already!) my pal, Howard,
Great Big Radio, Hoffman and I set out to Woodland Hills to make a book trailer for YouTube. I thought it would be fun to tour the old house. The lovely 150 year-old woman who owned it practically chased us off the property with her cane. It was literally “You kids get off my lawn!” So we filmed a segment on the sidewalk before she called the SWAT team. (The trailer is included at the bottom of the post.)
Recently, my childhood friend, Wende, who spent many carefree hours in my house pleading with her mother, “Can we
GO?” noticed there was a estate sale. So naturally I barreled down there. It was my one chance to walk through my house again and maybe buy some shower curtain rings.
First I should mention that I had never been to an estate sale. I like to buy my spools and scissors new. So I was unprepared for what I initially saw. There was junk and chotskies
everywhere. Like a 99 Cent store after a typhoon. I wanted to yell out, “I vacuumed these carpets for hours for
THIS?!”
Needless to say it was strange to walk through the house after all these years. Everything seemed smaller, which I hear is quite common. I was smaller then, and as everyone knows, houses shrink.
The real weirdness came when I entered my old room. A woman was manning a card table selling knitting needles and pantyhose purchased in 1983. (If they found and sold the condoms I bought in 1966 I want half.) Other people wandered in and out. And even though it’s been decades, my reaction was: “What are these strangers doing walking through my bedroom?” A lot of uh…
private stuff went on in that room and here are people just violating my space. (At least a few bought things.)
I must’ve spent a half hour walking through the house. Each room unleashed a flood of memories. Happy times, life lessons (most learned the hard way), and remembering loved ones who were so alive then and now are gone.
I left feeling very wistful. I can’t imagine ever walking in there again (unless to return the stapler I bought for a dollar if it doesn’t work). At one time it was my home. Now I felt like I didn’t belong. On the other hand, being back, I symbolically revisited that
kid who grew up there and hopefully took some of “him” home with me. It’s amazing the things you find at estate sales.