Every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end

June 24, 2007

Two nights ago I was at my beloved Beauport. It is in the darkness of night when the ghosts seems real. When the house is still and shadowy corners can hide any possibility. I don't know what I believe about the supernatural that haunts that place… but what I feel in the air, in the walls, in the furniture… is the aging memory of when it was a house. When people lived, partied, loved, cried, spoke, sang, wrote… lived. There are many times when an echo of that past creeps into the room for a fleeting second, making it a house again and not the vacant shrine it is today.

Beauport is on my brain a bit more these days… but just now it seemed an appropriate corollary as I wandered through the empty rooms with boxes piled high and scattered remnants of what once occupied the space. There are a number of echoes on this final Saturday at Washington Park. The happy recollection of parties, conversations, movie nights, dinners, guests, solitary evenings, hurricane punch, music, tears, laughter, cooking, eating, drinking, comfortable silences, friendships… and so many more reverberations. So many moments not easily recognized in their passing as memorable… and yet… now… something worth a pause to treasure.

Tonight we took one last walk to Cabot's from the house and settled on the front stoop to enjoy the cool summer evening to eat our ice cream and observe the skulking animals on the park. Another deceptively simple moment that will implant itself in my memory with fond recollection.

I've had a good run here. In spite of the hellacious ending. And as I round out the last few days of plaster dust and takeout to make up for the lack of kitchen (so excited about the new kitchen), I will think more of the evenings here that will echo in my future days… and hopefully in those of the others who have visited here.

Friends, thanks for the memories… and looking forward to the new ones to come!