from whence we came © Laura Kicey
In an attempt to break free of the bonds of weather-induced cabin fever, this weekend, I finally got out. When I tested the waters early on Saturday afternoon, I came home after less than an hour, sick to my stomach, gasping for breath, dehydrated and wobbly. Take two, a few hours and beverages later: The Dust and I scurried off to Manayunk for explorations. Lentils and tandooried poultry propelled us through the streets and alleys to that most titillating find: a door leading in to an abandoned house in the process of being gutted, hanging ajar.
Apparently my gusto returned to me as I was the one who suggested we go in. Normally I'm too terrifically paralyzed with dread to be the one to walk through the door first, though typically follow if no one falls through the floor. But it was unlocked. And open. And not bedecked with no trespassing signs. And singing to me, so sweetly, with faded green walls and red stairs leading upward and onward (trumpets sound).
autumn leaves © Laura Kicey
We nervously made our way up the sagging stairs to the second floor. Great and small hunks of wallpaper in the most extraordinary patterns hung from the walls in the visible rooms. I love the little left-behinds. Tiny telling details. The questions these decisions ask. It made me think of a story I heard on This American Life which I have been yakking about to the most available ears lately, so you might have been hit with it already. It tells the story of a group of boys who broke into an abandoned house, filled with pieces of the lives of a family who seemed to have gotten up and walked out and decades later go looking for the answers.
Sweat burning our eyes and grit sticking to our arms and faces, we played with angles until a voice downstairs murmured hello and made me too shaky to continue onward in the dying evening light. The body attached to voice was apparently less brave than we two and we slipped back out into the decreasingly sultry eve. We made our way into Fishtown to see a band or three and give ourselves a workout trying to keep up with the performers. The antics of the lead singer of the Israeli band Monotonix were especially appreciated along with my earplugs and a safe distance from the swinging microphone and other flying debris and furniture.
dissonance © Laura Kicey
The heat has officially subsided. Though the website is not yet done, the secret-code workings are safely in the hands of K for the time being, so I may have to sneak out tonight for a breath of the fresh stuff before it gets stale. The end of captivity.
Also Happy Birthday to my brother!!! He is days away from returning to this side of the Atlantic and I haven't heard that punk's voice in months....
root cellar © Laura Kicey