When I was young, we lived next door to a woman named Mrs. Marker, who I remember as having been very old. When we are four or five, of course, everyone seems very old. My older brother and I would walk over and visit Mrs. Marker occasionally, and she was always happy to see us. A very generous woman, she gave us a radio that I listened to while falling asleep throughout most of my childhood. Mrs. Marker died when I was in the first grade, and hers was the first funeral I ever attended. I don’t remember being particularly sad. I’m sure it was explained to me that people die, and I’m sure that I accepted that Mrs. Marker had lived a lot of life and that things were as they should be.
When I got older, my mother told me stories about her that I remember to this day. Apparently when Mrs. Marker’s husband died, she went into a deep depression. One day she woke up and saw Jesus sitting at the foot of her bed. He told her to get up. She replied that she didn’t feel like living. He told her that he understood, but that one day she would, and she needed to get out of bed now. My mother also told me Mrs. Marker used to chase the devil out of her house with a broom. This may sound odd to those not raised in the Bible Belt, but to me, it has always sounded like a perfectly valid way to deal with depression.
The Engineer sent the above picture today and told me that her house (we still think of it as Mrs. Marker’s house even though a steady stream of people have lived there over the last 30 years) was sold to a development company and torn down to make way for new construction. It’s happening a lot in my old neighborhood. Dad’s house is now surrounded by new, monstrously large houses, and it being on the corner lot, I’m sure that as soon as he decides to leave, it too will be replaced with something massive.
Meanwhile in the Midwest, the Photographer and I are doing some house hunting, and we would love to find something along the lines of Mrs. Marker’s house – not too big, in a good neighborhood, on a nice sized lot. It’s proving hard to come by. There seem to be very small houses and very big houses, but finding the in between is not so easy. I love older homes and have always missed the fireplace in the house I grew up in. We’ve seen a lot of homes with the fireplace bricked up, for energy efficiency of course, but it’s hard not to think of that as a real shame. The Photographer grew up on land where they raised sheep and chickens, and while we don’t aspire to farm life, he finds the many backyards in our area with no more than five square feet of green rather sad. It’s hard not to feel like something we care about – a picture, our history, something unnamable – is disappearing. And yet today when I saw this photo, what came to mind was the image of Mrs. Marker in her bed, feeling that the future she was in was not one she wanted to be a part of, and Jesus, at the foot of it, saying that one day, things will feel different.