no one knows this (until now), but once or twice every week, i stop off at the house where david and i used to live and where shoshanna was born two years ago. it's usually while i'm on my way to work or on that side of town anyway. it's always a jarring time warp to see the faded pennants i sewed just last spring (and intended to replace every summer); the familiar old porch where so many photos were taken and visits with friends were spent, but missing our mismatched pots of growing vegetables and zinnias planted from seed; and the same peeling-paint windows as always, but without my homemade curtains and window boxes overflowing with flowers.
i sneak into the side yard with a small bag of cat food, pour it into two big piles mostly hidden by overgrown weeds, then tiptoe away and drive off like a cat food-dispensing criminal. when i moved in, the street was overrun with hungry wild cats, and i quickly took it upon myself to feed every last one, and keep them warm during the winter with an elaborate "straw palace" i built underneath the porch. somehow i just haven't been able to totally cut them off from my life yet, even though it's somewhat crazy to drive all the way across town to feed some mangy alley cats on the reg, eight months after i moved away.
anyway, there was also a house on the corner with two skinny dogs tied up in the yard, and oh man, the first freezing winter that we had sho, those dogs tugged at my heart endlessly. back in the early days of this here blog, i wrote about the time david and i hauled a huge doghouse down the street using nothing but our skateboards, so they could have a little shelter from the wind and snow. something about that moment, sneaking into those jerks' yard and working together under the cover of night to help out their dogs, always stayed with me as being somehow representative of our relationship.
when i turned the corner on our old street today, i saw this where that house used to be:
dude, the symbolism. what the hell happened?