It's Just a House

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.