Soulful memories of houses past

Thanksgiving Day 2008

I was brushing my teeth last night and suddenly had a flashback to a house I lived in for a short time in Durango. Although I only lived in that house for a few months, I have vivid memories of it that often return to me at the oddest moments, like in the midst of teeth-brushing.
 I don't know why I remember that house so well. Maybe because I loved it so much. I think I connected with it. Just like with people, some houses I connect with and some I do not. I believe buildings can have souls, especially if they've been around a long time, so this makes perfect sense to me.
The Third Avenue house was built about 1908. It was newly renovated but still felt old. I like that. It had character along with a beautiful modern kitchen and bath. Even the modern updates felt old. The owners did an awesome job on the renovation. They really wanted to sell it, but the crappy real estate market made it tough. So they rented it instead. My daughter and I were the first renters.
Third Avenue is a large wide street full of huge Victorian mansions and tiny turn-of-the-century row houses built mere inches from their neighbors' roofs. It's just two very short blocks off Main Avenue, where I worked at Durango Coffee Company. I could walk to work, when I wanted, which came in quite handy. We moved in there at the first of November and the months that followed were pretty snowy. Many a morning I trudged through snowbanks, slipped and slid on frozen sidewalks in my fake Ugg boots, past the train depot and Nini's Taqueria, Lady Falconburg's and the Strater Hotel, to DCC.

Easy dog keeps an eye on Third Avenue

As I brushed my teeth, I tried to conjure up images and feelings from other bathrooms in other houses I have lived in throughout my life. And there have been many. Many, many, many. I am embarrassed to say how many, so I won't. As I brushed, brushed, brushed, I could remember some bathrooms only by sight, in my mind, but others held strong memories like the Third Avenue house.
I remembered the yellow-tiled master bathroom of the Green House on Rattlesnake Ranch. We haven't lived there for more than 15 years, but I could still recall what it felt like to bathe in that stall-shower. I could still smell the strong sulphur water, which could gag you if you weren't used to it. That huge sprawling ranch-style house built in the 1950s had lots of soul. Not so much in the structure itself, but the land it sat on. The ranch was originally a cotton plantation, and before that it was the site of a bloody battle between Spanish explorers and natives. Or something like that. I could possibly have my facts wrong, but I do know that a bloody battle involving Spaniards took place. Lots of history there. We all had very odd and disturbing dreams while we lived in that house.
So anyway, I brushed my teeth and reconnected with houses from my past. Believe it or not, all this reminiscing at the bathroom sink took place in 60-90 seconds. Funny how quickly our minds work. I guess that's why we can have epic movie-length dreams during 10-minute power naps.
Or is that just me?