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Time to slay your own dragons, ladies.

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My first kiss was an unwanted one. I was seven years old when a boy named David pushed me up against the wall outside our apartment building. Forcing his mouth on mine, his breath, hot and fusty, something sickly sweet like apple juice and milk gone sour in his gut that made me squirm. I don’t remember seeing him as I ran with my brother and the other neighborhood kids through the empty lot next door, scrabbling over the toppled trees, slick with moss, tripping over the bramble of twigs and woodsy decay, but he must have been there, his knees as scratched and muddied as ours, before he caught up with me in the driveway that ran alongside and behind the apartment building. 
As usual I’d tagged along in my older brother’s shadow. Tag, hide and seek, cowboys and indians, the games kids used to play. Outdoors, up and down the streets, no watchful mommies on red alert. Ignoring our mothers’ warnings—don’t go into the woods, don’t go into the woods—we went into the woods, woods that in fact …

British Isles Friday: Little pink houses for you and for me.



"Ain't that America, home of the free"?
No John Mellencamp, it's not. This little pink house is in London, on Elgin Crescent in Nottinghill. A street known for it's pretty pastel-painted row houses.

When I think of the colorful—colourful?—houses of Nottinghill, I think of rows of shining happy facades, neat as a pin. My mind skims right over the places where they need a touch up, the chipped white painted iron work of the front gate, the dirt that comes with the drizzle of the rain tainting the cornice over the front porch.

My photos from the trip that took us to London last spring clear the misty haze from my romanticized image, revealing the truth. As pretty as this pink house is, it isn't perfect. Still, I love it. I'm a fan of pink houses, turquoise walls, green doors, houses painted in the colors that you see on homes in the tropics.

They're not everyone's cup of tea, many preferring houses that come in shades of white and grey. How about you? Would you dream of painting a home pink or is pink a color that should be relegated to flower beds, silk blouses and a young woman's lipstick?

Posted for British Isles Friday at Joy Weese Moll's blog.


Comments

  1. Hmm. We saw a lot of pink houses in Martha's Vinyard... Btw, the early pink houses were coloured with bulls' blood!

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    Replies
    1. Ew! I'll never get that out of my head now.

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  2. I hope people look at my face the same way you skim over these houses!

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. I'm with you there! Constantly glad my husband needs glasses.

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  3. I love the door. There are great painted doors in Dublin, too. The fact that some of them need a new coat of paint just adds to the character.

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  4. True! Like the Velveteen Rabbit.

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