Just a House
What’s the big deal? It’s just a
house. Nineteen years ago a collection of wood, metal, carpet, plaster and
plastic were cleverly designed into fitted shapes, and we had a shelter. Now,
it’s gone, sold. In three days we will leave and never return. Never have to
come back to cricks in our necks from painting; or strains in our muscles from
cutting branches, pushing mowers, raking stones, making walkways, planting
trees and all – all the work that
never stopped. It’ll be the carefree life of apartment living for us. For the
three kids, now 20, 23 and 26, they won’t have to worry about being put to work
when they come over, and all those nasty chores they grew up with (yes, even
the shoveling of llama dung) will be just distasteful memories.
What’s the big deal? We have
videos, pictures, tape recordings, and plenty of memories stored forever
(because that’s what the Internet does). So, with these we can relive the
holidays (especially the Christmases), the birthdays, the graduations, first
days of school (especially kindergarten), winning celebrations, and special
visits from friends and relatives. That’s modern media; we don’t need the house
anymore: it’s virtual!
One thing though, is many of the happy
memories were not recorded: the day we got our first swimming pool; each day
each child first balanced and peddled solo on a bicycle; the day rollerblading
and bicycling expanded a hundred-fold when the road got paved; the days we
watched the squirrels sit and eat from the hanging bird-feeder; the books we
read and the stories we told at bedtime; the Saturday nights we threw
mattresses on the family room floor, loaded up with snacks, and watched TV til
we all nodded off; all the balls we hit, shot, caught and threw – oh, the daily
delights.
Another thing is there were painful
moments too, also unrecorded: the day we lit a candle on the front porch and
said a prayer for our country on 9/11; the day Mom was diagnosed with cancer;
all the trips to the emergency room (Nurse: “You mean he slid down a gravel
driveway on his face!”); the call when Grandpa died; and the sobs and tears heard from behind a
closed bathroom door for unrequited love, lost pets, and, saddest of all, the
sobs for which we knew not why.
But for the last tears in the last
days at this house, we will know why.
