Well, they've gone and done it. Ma & Pa have bought them a "summer home" by the lake. Yeah, that's it. They're not really ever moving there, per se, thusly selling My House. It's just a little vacation home.
Or not.
They're breaking up the old timers on the 'Shire, the street I grew up on. There's 7 houses on that street. 5 of them have had the same families in them as long as I lived there or just about. All those families are roughly the same age, mostly a bit older than mine. One family, a few doors down, has had some tragedy and drama and has kind of fallen apart. I can't remember who lives there now.
But it's very sad to me that my folks will be leaving. I can't imagine them living anywhere but across the street from the M's. Their house was my view from my bedroom. I used to play Barbies on their pool table in the basement. And Dungeon Dice. They had the coolest basement. Their daughter who is my age, my brother, and I recorded a tape of us as newsfolk reporting on Hurricane Diana, with Hurricane Diana always spoken in a terrible Southern drawl. We'd play in their back yard under the deck. There was some odd cement foundation thing back there with two giant holes or a ledge or something.
And then there's all the fond memories of My House. For some reason the most sad and nostalgic is all the hot summers spent in the basement playing Lemonade Stand or Olympic Decathalon (never could figure out the shot put) on the Apple II e. Or the summers with the cribbage coffee table brought upstairs to play cards on for pennies. Or the time said neighbor girl came over while we were building the deck and we stayed up all night running around the back yard spying on and messing with my brother an his friend who also stayed the night. That was where Matt and I would sit at the dinner table laughing ourselves sick every time we'd look at each other, so we'd separate ourselves in our bedrooms. We'd open the doors only to see each other and bust out laughing right off. I could go on...
I used to look forward to the day when I'd bring my kids to Grandma's house for Christmas and it was that house. It wasn't a house in Cadillac that I'd never seen myself. But, and this is one very huge but, I don't begrudge my parents doing what they're doing. The 'Shire, which itself is pretty "Same!" and "Unimproved!" is surrounded by quite the opposite. 8-year-old G would not recognize the 'Pine today. There's no Alpine Orchards for frosty chocolate milkshakes. There's no goat on the hill. Heck, even the last holdout, Alpine Floral, has moved from what I hear. Now it's all stripmalls and WalMart.
But more importantly, my folks worked very hard to give us that house. They worked hard to give us a camper and a computer (inside joke). They worked hard to get us cable before pretty much everyone else I knew. They worked hard putting my brother and I through college to get degrees, some more useful than others. They worked at jobs they sometimes didn't always love. My mom is a cancer survivor. They've more than earned a quiet place to spend the rest of their lives. My dad has certainly earned his two workshops. My mom has earned my dad having his two workshops, thusly not using her car as a workbench. They've earned the opportunity to spend their retirement in a quieter, happier place. I wish them nothing but happiness and joy in their new home, even if it does have a Coke bathroom (for now). And I wish and hope that the lot across the way sits on the market for 20 years so they can always enjoy their view of the lake.
Congratulations, Ma & Dad. I love you.
(No fair selling the house. Keep it as a museum or shrine to me and a place I can always visit. Thanks.)
