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Have Broom Will Travel [memoir]

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Halloween 1995, Batman and me
My history is littered with Halloween fails. Before I became a mother the question of what I was going to be for Halloween terrified me.


1958:  Halloween on a blazing hot afternoon in Tripoli, Libya. Age 5 All the military brats from Wheelus Air Force base were going to a Halloween party in an airplane hangar just outside Tripoli. Lots of civilian kids—mostly Brits and Yanks—whose parents worked on the base in various capacities were invited which meant my brother and I got to go too. Our dad, who spoke Arabic fluently and had been with British Intelligence during the war, had something to do with managing the PX on the base. My brother went dressed as a hobo, his cheeks smeared grey by my mother with a piece of burnt cork, while his friend, the older boy who lived next door, dressed up as a woman—a pillow stuck down his sweater shaped into clownish balloon-sized breasts and big red sticky lips. I went as Minnie Mouse in a cheap, cellophane-thin, store-bough…

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!

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

      Delete
  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.

      Delete
  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.

    ReplyDelete
  4. True! Like the Velveteen Rabbit.

    ReplyDelete

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