This Old House

Look at that fresh coat of paint on this old house!

It's ridiculous to get emotionally attached to real property.  (Sometimes I embrace the ridiculousness.)  The house pictured hasn't been in our family since 1982 after my great grandmother's death.  It was the house built by my ancestors, passed down through inheritance, and finally ending up as the home of my great grandparents whom I never really knew.

It was the home where in 1975 my 19 year old mother married my father!

In the 1990's one of my best friend's mother bought the house, and I spent many days in the large old rooms.  (The first time my mother visited the house in 1990's I can remember her crying by being flooded with her childhood memories; it's hard not to get attached.) The house had recently fallen into disarray - it's time for someone to invest in rebooting the house; however, the house is somewhat functionally obsolete...it only has two bathrooms for the five bedroom house and the closest are small, which is normal for an almost 100 year old homes.   This house needs a major overhaul to bring it into the modern world.

I think this house is the reason I wanted to own a two story house.  Our family stories retold frequently were always so grand and idyllic when it came to Thanksgivings, Christmases, weddings,  and funerals that happened at this house.  For at least a couple of generations the matriarch of our family occupied this house, which is why the stories were always happy.

 What matters most in life are the relationships we have with the people we love.   In the end a family is a group of people united by familiar experiences and a familiar narrative.  The stories we tell even out live us.  When I'm an old, old man (and assuming this house survives) I will point it out to my grandchildren: "This is the house were my parents were married!"

And life goes on.