Flowers of Yesteryear
Change is a continuous state of nature. Nothing is static. Living in the same place for the past twenty-five years I have only noticed change exceptionally, like when the grove of trees in front of my house was cut down. I have to deliberately stop and think, "That house is new; the house that used to be there was torn down; there didn't use to be a lane there; that stand of trees used to be saplings; etc."
Today I went hunting for a new television for my father's kitchen. I went to a hypermarket in one of the first malls built in Galicia, because I was told there was a good sale on. I hadn't been there in a long time, but the change was apparent. Many stores had closed, small ones had opened, but few people were walking around. The movie theater where I used to take my daughter during summer vacation ever since she had been three or four, was gone. So was the McDonald's where I used to treat her to chicken nuggets after the movie (her favorite on the Happy Meal menu). The larger chain stores had closed there to reopen at the new mall built just about a kilometer away. The new mall has the advantage of free parking and of being new. I suppose that explains the good sale at the hypermarket; temptations to bring in the missing shoppers.
Change was also apparent when I took my daughter to visit Boston eleven years ago. One of the days we were there, I took her to my old neighborhood, to see where I had grown up. The street was still pretty much the same, only older. There were still the two garages just up from our triple decker on the other side of the street. The empty lot across from our house was still there, more overgrown, and the pole that had stood by the sidewalk was now dwarfed by the trees that had sprung up around it. Beyond the lot were the commuter rail tracks and beyond those the square housing project apartment buildings. On summer evenings in the early 80's Michael Jackson's lyrics would drift in with the breeze through my open windows from block parties the residents threw. Next to the lot was the triple decker that had been there before and next to it the brick apartment building that had been built in the emptied lot a few years before we left. When I was little there were two triple deckers, one occupied, the other abandoned. One night there was a fire in the occupied one, probably during the arson craze that swept Boston in the late seventies. I remember firefighters putting out the fire, and then the houses being torn down. After that someone set up a used car lot on the property.
The car lot was my first brush with my civic conscience. One Fourth of July long after the sun had set we were sitting on our front porch, enjoying the cooling air. Headlights appeared in the lot, and we watched two guys drive a car to the chain drawn across the entrance and ram the car into it. The chain held, the car backed up and rammed again. It broke the chain and left the front bumper behind as the thieves burnt rubber out of there. No cops ever appeared. At that time I worked after school running errands, filing, and washing glassware in the laboratories of the old Department of Physiology at Harvard Medical School. In one of the labs I was telling what I had seen the night before, and the head of the lab asked if I had called the police. I said no, because we didn't want to become involved as witnesses to anything. The director didn't like the answer and left the room, saying I could have made an anonymous call.
The afternoon on my way home I stopped at a pay phone and made the call. The police officer listened attentively and then asked for my name. I said I wished to remain anonymous. The officer brusquely said, "Thanks," and hung up. When I mentioned that in the lab the following day, the director found the officer's attitude unworthy of the police. I agree but have since discovered it to be sadly generalized.
On our side of the street the houses were much the same, except the triple decker that had been ours. The porch rails had been replaced. The second floor porch was rounded but the new rails had been installed straight across, leaving the curve jutting out beyond. It had been cheaper, I guess. The cherry tree that had grown from a spring night of eating cherries and spitting out the pits to the square patch of garden below was dead. It had reached the third floor porch, but perhaps it had been hit by a blight. The bushes that had surrounded the two patches of garden were gone. So were the two rose bushes. The driveway, where we and the first floor tenants had parked our cars, was blocked off by a fence with a locked door. Each floor had two kitchen windows, side by side. On the third floor where we had lived, one of them was covered by plywood, with an air conditioner sticking out. The kitchens were southerly and the sun entering during the winter months was very welcome. Now the kitchen would be darker and less inviting. The only thing that hadn't changed was the yellow siding and the solid front door. It was a solid wood frame with a glass in the middle. I think it still had the same curtain, white background with blue and green diamonds scattered on it. It was there when we bought the house in 1974, and it will probably be there until it's demolished.
It saddened me to see our old house so changed. And that was eleven years ago; how much can it have changed since? It also saddened me to see the old mall where we had spent Sunday strolls and summer movie memories with our daughter slowly dying. But I have to accept them, nothing stays the same forever.
Today I went hunting for a new television for my father's kitchen. I went to a hypermarket in one of the first malls built in Galicia, because I was told there was a good sale on. I hadn't been there in a long time, but the change was apparent. Many stores had closed, small ones had opened, but few people were walking around. The movie theater where I used to take my daughter during summer vacation ever since she had been three or four, was gone. So was the McDonald's where I used to treat her to chicken nuggets after the movie (her favorite on the Happy Meal menu). The larger chain stores had closed there to reopen at the new mall built just about a kilometer away. The new mall has the advantage of free parking and of being new. I suppose that explains the good sale at the hypermarket; temptations to bring in the missing shoppers.
Change was also apparent when I took my daughter to visit Boston eleven years ago. One of the days we were there, I took her to my old neighborhood, to see where I had grown up. The street was still pretty much the same, only older. There were still the two garages just up from our triple decker on the other side of the street. The empty lot across from our house was still there, more overgrown, and the pole that had stood by the sidewalk was now dwarfed by the trees that had sprung up around it. Beyond the lot were the commuter rail tracks and beyond those the square housing project apartment buildings. On summer evenings in the early 80's Michael Jackson's lyrics would drift in with the breeze through my open windows from block parties the residents threw. Next to the lot was the triple decker that had been there before and next to it the brick apartment building that had been built in the emptied lot a few years before we left. When I was little there were two triple deckers, one occupied, the other abandoned. One night there was a fire in the occupied one, probably during the arson craze that swept Boston in the late seventies. I remember firefighters putting out the fire, and then the houses being torn down. After that someone set up a used car lot on the property.
The car lot was my first brush with my civic conscience. One Fourth of July long after the sun had set we were sitting on our front porch, enjoying the cooling air. Headlights appeared in the lot, and we watched two guys drive a car to the chain drawn across the entrance and ram the car into it. The chain held, the car backed up and rammed again. It broke the chain and left the front bumper behind as the thieves burnt rubber out of there. No cops ever appeared. At that time I worked after school running errands, filing, and washing glassware in the laboratories of the old Department of Physiology at Harvard Medical School. In one of the labs I was telling what I had seen the night before, and the head of the lab asked if I had called the police. I said no, because we didn't want to become involved as witnesses to anything. The director didn't like the answer and left the room, saying I could have made an anonymous call.
The afternoon on my way home I stopped at a pay phone and made the call. The police officer listened attentively and then asked for my name. I said I wished to remain anonymous. The officer brusquely said, "Thanks," and hung up. When I mentioned that in the lab the following day, the director found the officer's attitude unworthy of the police. I agree but have since discovered it to be sadly generalized.
On our side of the street the houses were much the same, except the triple decker that had been ours. The porch rails had been replaced. The second floor porch was rounded but the new rails had been installed straight across, leaving the curve jutting out beyond. It had been cheaper, I guess. The cherry tree that had grown from a spring night of eating cherries and spitting out the pits to the square patch of garden below was dead. It had reached the third floor porch, but perhaps it had been hit by a blight. The bushes that had surrounded the two patches of garden were gone. So were the two rose bushes. The driveway, where we and the first floor tenants had parked our cars, was blocked off by a fence with a locked door. Each floor had two kitchen windows, side by side. On the third floor where we had lived, one of them was covered by plywood, with an air conditioner sticking out. The kitchens were southerly and the sun entering during the winter months was very welcome. Now the kitchen would be darker and less inviting. The only thing that hadn't changed was the yellow siding and the solid front door. It was a solid wood frame with a glass in the middle. I think it still had the same curtain, white background with blue and green diamonds scattered on it. It was there when we bought the house in 1974, and it will probably be there until it's demolished.
It saddened me to see our old house so changed. And that was eleven years ago; how much can it have changed since? It also saddened me to see the old mall where we had spent Sunday strolls and summer movie memories with our daughter slowly dying. But I have to accept them, nothing stays the same forever.
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