I think I grew up a little yesterday. Little more, I mean, as I have recently been stretched and reshaped in various unexpected ways. But today, starting late the night before, was different.
As we drove in the dark past the big red house that holds many of my all-time fondest memories, the realtor's sign flashed in the headlights. I was really jarred by that sight--so blatant, so in my face, so real.
Yesterday we went back to Nana-and-Poppy's "old" house: for clean up, for yard work, for packing up, for goodbyes.
Farewell to that "we-finally-made-it-to-Nana-and-Poppy's house" view.
Goodbye to the basement workshop, where many toy cars and figurines were fondly carved, sanded, pinched into the vice grip within an inch of their wooden lives.
Farewell to the many clocks, with their hanging pendulums now unhooked and sitting on the table.
Goodbye, Nana and Poppy's bedroom...so many early mornings pretending to wake them up, and the snuggles that ensued.
Goodbye to the hallway that held all of Poppy's antique signs from various American inns.
Goodbye to the tiny first floor bathroom that overlooks the flowers in the front yard.
Goodbye to the tantalizing fragrance of the candy cupboard, and all the times I snitched prohibited Reeses or Wilhelmina mints.
Goodbye to the dining room table that marked celebrations of countless holidays, and the corner china cabinet that held our mini Bible story books on the lowest shelf.
Goodbye to the couch on which I spent Christmas Eves' nights of sleep, in great anticipation.
Goodbye to the crayons in the cupboard.
Goodbye to the piano room, and all the caroling that occurred there.
Farewell to the kitchen, the hub of family life together.
Goodbye to the staircase with the landing, that I always found so fascinating and Slinky-ful.
Goodbye to the various bedrooms upstairs that belonged to aunts and uncle and Mom through the years.
Goodbye to the bathroom, the linen closet, the hallways.
Goodbye to Poppy's office, always crammed with papers and decorated with a lovely, nearly shocking amount of sailboats.
Farewell to that attic--the grandchildren's playroom, only after it was the children's--choc-full of records, babydolls, antique children's chairs, the toy kitchen, archaic board games, and books. I will never forget the absolutely perfect smell of summer in the attic.
Goodbye to the toolshed, boat shed, raspberry bush, the antique well, badminton net, "outhouse", trees, flagpole, creek, forest, birdhouse, red house replica dog house, driveway, and the front rock.
So, I suppose what made me feel like this farewell grew me up was the realization that this goodbye was needed as a reminder that the lovely, cherished moments are still with me. They are found in the people I treasure, not in the building. It's like the difference between "house" and "home"; one means more the building, and one more the memories and sentiments and people.
Either way, both the red house and my family I will, as Poppy once said, "treasure always".
Rest in peace, Poppy. Shalom. I'll see you there someday soon.
xox
