Everything Bianca

So Many Pies, So Few Fingers

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I had the pleasure of living next door to an abandoned house growing up. The house is still there, still abandoned, and being worked on continuously by a stubborn owner. (Mom offers to buy it every few years.)

Anyway... Abandoned houses are like ready made imagination stations. The entry ways secret, the dark, musky pathways a secret edifice. Abandoned houses are the castles to the cramped tents of 'tree houses' or play houses.

We used to have fire drills for our house. Whenever I brought in a new kid, that was the initiation ritual. You had to know how to get out of the (did I mention this house was a 2-story monstrosity?) building in under a minute - from any location. We even had a spot in the over grown woods from which we would emerge.

The fire drill had some kind of arcane keyword. I don't recall it now, but if we heard a parent calling a name out. We'd raise the alarm and scramble like volunteers in a firehouse.

I barely remember what we actually did in there. The fire drills were so bloody common that my brain committed that to memory. Bounding down stairs, squeezing under ply-board.

With all the defaults going around, abandoned homes are prime real estate. (Of course, they probably come with draconian locks and alarms.)

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I have had the pleasure of inheriting an abandoned house. Ten years empty in a rainy county after thirty years untouched by a cranky grandfather and schizophrenic uncle. It is my private green paradise.

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