Wednesday, April 30, 2014


Dear, sweet house, are you ready for the nursing home or am I? Have you lived out your usefulness or have I? We're at crossroads you and I to sell or not to sell.
We have shared architectural and emotional highs and lows. Your walls have seen me laugh and cry.
You have heard quiet serenity and the screaming intensity of discord.
You have enveloped me during times of illness and times of health and happiness.
If you could talk, what would you say?
Do you remember when young Larry left us to explore the world at 17?
He did not allow us to drive him to the airport, only the limo down the street.
How painful that was. When I got home I found a note saying all the things he couldn't say, that he loved me so much and didn't want to hurt me, but he had to do this.
So the children left us, as it should be. And we have these people empty rooms and the constant talk about "we don't need this house".
So here we are, my husband and I, still  mouthing the same words, "Where should we go?"
We don't have playful, chattering grandchildren running through the rooms. So you, too, house are being cheated.
You're comfortable, old fashioned, old hat, plenty of filled nooks and crannies to avoid throwing things away. What do you do with old books, manuscripts, pictures, furniture long outlived, drawers filled with scarves, jewelry, belts which no longer fit, clothes wearable but no longer worn, clocks that still tick---are they telling us to go?
Do you remember all the attempts we made to beautify you? When we used black paint instead of white? Or green instead of blue? Did you laugh at our attempts at interior decorating?
And what about the spacious lawn around you? Did you feel inferior, surrounded by the lush, green chemical-fed lawns of our neighbors?
Or the vegetable garden that grew square cucumbers and we wouldn't tell the difference between the weeds and the flowers.
So here we are ready to give up and nobody wants you. You are old and tired and drab.  But please don't die. There's still time for these walls to reverberate with the job and laughter of children and relatives and friends and parties.
Somewhere out there is a family looking and waiting for you, to rejuvenate you and update you.
That's real estate lingo. Will you be happy to be slick and white with walls coming down and windows going up?
It's time to get rid of the typewriters and replace them with computers. So this is my tribute to you, dear house. You have been a home to me and I know that when the time comes I will miss you.


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