House stories.

I have these photos in an old album of an abandoned house we used to frequent in high school.  It was somewhere in the hills of Yucaipa and to this day I cannot remember when or how we found it. It barely stood and hardly straight, the outside covered in peeling paint.  Whoever once called that house a home also left the majority of their belongings inside, which always made us wonder if we would someday do the same.  I remember the white, badly-tuned piano in the basement and the old rotary phone that always sat with the receiver off the hook.  No one ever hung it up. We just let it lie there, as if eventually a voice would sound through and tell us all about what happened in the walls. Bands began to show up on the weekends to play shows and it felt like we were getting away with this great heist.  We had this magical place where no one could find us and we could spend hours conjuring up stories and playing music and being sixteen. 

Eight years later I am still finding magical places like the old Yucaipa house, and they still bring the same sixteen year old feelings.  Tonight I re-watchedNarika’s Project Life videos.  Numbers XI, XII, XIII and XIIII are from this summer in Cocoa and make my little heart melt.  Nights at the Bungalow, backyard weddings, music at the Yellow House, shows in Orlando— these are my Yucaipa house stories, and I am truly blessed to live this East coast adventure this year.