jeudi, septembre 17, 2009
Last night I dreamed I was at Manderley again...as I get ready for this weekends trip to New York with the children, that's the line that keeps going through my head.
But the house in Brooklyn about to be sold isn't haunted -- or if it was, no one spoke of it. No dead wife, no vengeful housekeeper. After the end of September, it will become a place that my sister and I might not easily recognize. The early 20th brownstone will be redone by a family with more than enough income to redo the early 20th century pipes and electricity, take down the divide between kitchen and dining room, pull out the pocket doors -- and make it a home in which their family can celebrate all kinds of happy occasions, argue, do homework, and accomplish all the work of constructing a life.
So I don't know why I'm thinking Manderley -- except that this is the last physical place link with my parents and my beloved brother, gone 20 years this winter.
Exeunt omnes. Let the play begin again. The sweet spectres go with the executors -- for free.