Wednesday, December 10, 2008

Sleepy

Our class went twenty minutes over today. I wandered down the ice-covered sidewalk afterward and my head was boiling. Through a little yellow window I saw the inside of a little yellow house--the molding, the family portraits, the bookshelves. I love yellow houses.

Throughout my entire childhood I hated brick houses, even though my father would tell me that WE had a brick house so that if the grass burned our house wouldn't burn too.

When my parents divorced, my mom and us kids moved to a little yellow house. It felt safe.

When my mom remarried, we moved to a brick house. Life was exciting. I was living in Detroit. My family was expanding. I changed my mind. I would like brick houses! Maybe someday I would even live in a brick house!

But now, eight years later, I can't do it. I don't like brick houses. I love my family, of course. (This isn't some sort of strange symbolism.) But I don't like brick houses, I like little yellow houses.

3 comments:

careysue said...

I loved our little yellow house! Sometimes, I wish I was back there, you and all the kids.

Good times, good times Ali! :)

Hannah Ploechl said...

why don't you have any pictures on your blog?

I like your memory thing though

Oh, hey there. said...

ummm, I think brick houses are safer.