I was distraught back in January when I heard that the Town Theatre in Highland, Indiana, was finally going to be knocked down. It had sat dormant for a number of years, but I'd always been hopeful that someone would find a way to resurrect it. I posted about its demolition on Facebook, and even bugged journalist Andrew O'Hehir about it on Twitter since he'd written about its charm way back in 2006 on Salon.com in a series about the quirkiest art house cinemas around the country. I'd referenced the theater in an older blog post about seeing the movie Swingers for the first time back in the '90s, but I always meant to write more extensively about what a lifeline it was for me while I was still living in the area.

My uncle Chuck, one of my mom's older brothers, lives not far from the theater, and he kindly offered to pull a brick from the wreckage for me as a memento. I thanked him for his thoughtfulness and told him I'd look forward to retrieving it from him the next time I would be able to visit him. Well, due to bad weather and bad scheduling, I hadn't been able to get out there for a visit until just this week. He'd been periodically messaging me on Facebook to remind me to drive down to pick up the brick, and I'd assumed it was just general familial encouragement to spend time together. What I hadn't realized is that he was bursting with excitement to give it to me because he'd asked his wife to create an objet d'art out of the brick for me. I screamed when I opened the box he'd put it in. Look at how freaking awesome this is!!!


I've now got it sitting in pride of place right when you walk into our living room. The nexus of family, memory, art, hyperlocal specificity, and resurrection that it represents is almost too beautiful for me to bear.