I took Mr Oro to MacLaomainn's Scottish Pub the other day, which he greatly enjoyed even though they were out of haggis (and judging by the disappointed looks on the faces of the other patrons as they came in, it must be good haggis). He had a couple of pints of Bellhaven, which made him very happy, and got out of the house, which made me happy.
On the way back we nixed the highway and traveled through on the roads of my childhood, through the towns I knew vaguely from trips with my mom. And I grew sad, thinking of the girl I was, who knew nothing of what was to come, who didn't even fantasize about what life might be in the future.
Or maybe at that age you don't think about the future at all, you just are. It was strange, and sad, seeing all those houses that I so loved from when I was little, many of them dilapidated now. They're typical houses for this area...clearly I'm going to have to take more photos of what I'm talking about, although that one is a good representative...I guess what I mean to say is that when I see houses of this nature, I think of home.
I found myself longing for the girl I was, wishing I could go back and see her innocence. My heart breaks a little bit when I think back, because I had a very lucky rural childhood, albeit one filled with perhaps too much time alone, but that's how it is when you live half-way up a mountain with no other children near by (I have mentioned that when my mother wanted to really punish me, she kept me home from school, right?). I suspect most people must have thought us very strange, weird, even, for living up there with no running water or electricity, in that one room shack with the dog. Whenever I go back to the house now, it's unbelievable to me how tiny it actually was, for it seemed huge to me back then.
Oh, I gotta go - so much for reminiscing!