Saturday, February 22, 2014
This world can be a rather mysterious place, even for a pretty normal guy.
This is The Pilgrim. It's an apartment building on West Street in the West End. Walk in and ring his room. He'd buzz me in. I remember it always being toasty warm on mornings in winter. Bear a bit to the right and 'call' the elevator, and it was usually there in 30 seconds or less. Slide the heavy brass to the side and open a cage-like inner door and you were in. The ride to the 3rd floor was fast and the short amble down the hall was always met with the door ajar to let me. I'd sit at the small table overlooking the street below or take a place on the couch, and we'd talk about just about anything: antiques, our old farmhouse, a cruise that was in his future plans, some politics or even a course in Celtic he was planning on taking. I miss those visits. J- does too. We often travelled there together.
Dad's been gone since Christmas Eve 1997.
Here's another little secret of mine.
Until last year, I would drive out of my way not to venture down West Street.
It was too hard.
Once about 5 years ago, I took a 'wrong' turn and found myself on the street.
I focused straight ahead.
Wouldn't look to the right.
I guess I'm better now.
I took this photo last week.
I really like this building.