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My husbands dream was to move to Marylands eastern shore and mine was to have a two story colonial house. My husband was a brick mason, his brother was an electrician and our circle of friends were in the trades. Our house was built like an old fashion barn raising. Free labor paid back by my husband by building fireplaces, brick barbecues, etc. Jump ahead 50 years, I’m alone and my dream house became a burden, needed repair and updating. My youngest granddaughter and husband bought the house and proceeded to rip out walls, a 50 year old furnace, etc. my children were upset that I had to leave the house and that it would be changed. Renovations have been completed and the pandemic hit so Christmas Eve was my first visit back to the ole house. I was overcome with emotion, the inside was total different but absolutely beautiful. It was like the ole house had come back to life. Walls a soft blue, white trim, refinished hard floors stain a little darker, open stairway now wrought iron and wood, recessed lighting, hanging lights. Stacked washer and dryer went in the first floor bathroom shower stall. She wasn’t hauling laundry up and down two flights of stairs. Why did I never think of that. There was more but I have bored you enough. The house wasn’t a possession but memories and I am big on memories. Glad the ole house will see new memories.

Oh, Shirl, how exciting!

A lovely story, Shirl. Thank you.

I, too, am "big on memories".

My best friend in the entire world for these last 40 years or so is around your age, I think. I used to lament to her often about my "I only wishas", often as I was in tears.

She is a very wise woman, who has seen a lot of hardship in her life, and has overcome. She often says things to me, usually in a very off-hand manner, that land squarely in my heart and stay with me for a very long time.

Not too long ago she said to me that she herself sometimes has the blues, but that, whenever she does, she tells herself how very appreciative and thankful (even blessed) she feels that she had what she had (whatever it was) for as long as she did. As she says, the only constant in life is change.

Although her words were not directed at me, I have taken them to heart, especially during these troubling times of isolation and chaos.

Whenever I look outside at my smallish back yard, and pine for my 30 years of living in my Sierra foothills home, I realize how very grateful I am for the wonderful and amazing years I spent there, raising my children, looking out my living room window at the surrounding hills, sometimes dusted with snow in winter.

As much as I might like to (sometimes I wish for this with all of my heart) I know that I can't turn back time. When I get especially low (not too often anymore) I close my eyes and walk through the rooms of my old home once again in my mind, holding each of my young-again children by the hand, as we move through the now magical rooms together.

I find myself content, being where I am now - where life has led me - and blessed to have had such a rich golden past.

Thank you.

Anne

Shirl, I've only seen photos of a couple of our houses redone and I sometimes have mixed emotions. So many great memories in your home and so many more to come.

In 1973, my grandmother (she was 83 at the time) gave me a Christmas Journal which I kept until I was alone for Christmas in 2005. I was just reading some of it and so many memories of gifts, visitors, trips, births, marriages, etc. through the years.

If you have a chance I would love to see pictures. I grew up in a old Victoria on a tree lines street. Over the years my bedroom changed three times and there were only four bedrooms. My dad and stepmother sold it about 1976 or so. About two years ago I met up with my brother and niece and her two girls and we went through one Sunday that was anOpen House. The gentleman had pulled the downstairs carpet and refurbished the hardwood floors and had stripped the white paint off the door and window framing and let the natural wood shine. The hardwood floors my father had put in upstairs were still there as were the stairs he had built in the fourth bedroom so that there was access to the attic. My brother and I showed his granddaughters all the secret hiding places, etc. plus we’re the rope swing hung on the large sycamore tree which still stands as some of my dads stone work I’m the back fences and walkways. The house was full of memories but also showing signee of a hold other generation of memories. It was 150 years old when I was growing up…..and now it is 70 years older….

I think I might have told the story about my mother loosing most of her belongings and all her furniture at some point after she and my father were divorced. She was working as a nurse living in a motel and had her belongings in storage. At some point she was not able to pay for the storage and she lost most everything but a suitcase of family photos ( which she eventually gave to me). Anyway it always struck me how the value of material things….. It made me think hard about what I valued…. I realized early on what we all witnessed Karen go through. Things have value and memories but in the end it is people and the animals and our memories that we love that get us through….

That is special that your granddaughter was able to refurbish your old home now you will have your memories and make more memories as you visit your granddaughter...
I'd rather see a old home in use being loved and cared for instead of like my old home that just sits... it makes a person sad...
I occasionally go past most of my homes that I've lived in as a wife and mother... for some reason the one in Muscatine I don't quite frankly not sure I can find it the streets ect seem different when I'm in the neck of the woods... but my first home it looks the same as when we lived in it wish I had the nerve to go and knock on the door and see what they did to it it had one room that I referred to as the bowling lane long and narrow not that narrow but was a pain to position furniture... Our last one which we sold in 2007 is still the same color it too I'd love to see if they have done anything different...
sheila

Wonderful story Shirl! New memories are being made there for a new generation in your family.

When we sold our dad's house, we all figured it would be torn down and replaced with a McMansion. But it is still there. The new owners have done some upgrades and remodeling but I am glad it wasn't torn down. Hopefully, one day I can stop there and get a tour of the house. My friend who lives next door says the woman isn't very friendly tho, but maybe by the time I get back there, she will be accommodating enough to let me in for a quick walk-thru. The memories I have aren't always the best but some are good. Hopefully, this young family will have better memories for their kids to look back on.

Shirl, I wish I had been a fly on the wall when you walked into your former house! It's wonderful that your house is still in the family and will make lots more memories.

I truly didn’t care how they renovated the house, it is their house. I was surprised how beautiful It was. I loved it and not a recliner in sight. Lol. She did have my old rocking chair. Tina, I do not have pictures because we were too busy talking. Will try to remedy that. If so I will post before and after pictures.

Thanks. I love older homes with character or just look like they have stories to tell. And I would rather see real remodeling rather than HGTV bling ….

I too, enjoy and love old houses. It must be a joy to see your home remodeled and "new" for it's new family. I wish I could see the house/store I grew up in, unfortunately it burned down years ago. My grandparents old farmhouse is still standing and would love to see the inside again, one more time.

The only house I have an attachment to is the one Harold and I built that flooded. It would have to be elevated at least 8 feet and gutted before anyone could live in it. None of the kids want to live in the country. I think my next move will probably have to be to town.

Martha

Acadianmom wrote:The only house I have an attachment to is the one Harold and I built that flooded. It would have to be elevated at least 8 feet and gutted before anyone could live in it. None of the kids want to live in the country. I think my next move will probably have to be to town.

Martha

Ah, Martha. That "move to town" thing is always a majorly difficult decision. Sorry to hear that you might be looking at it.

I "moved to town" myself about ten years ago (after living in the Sierra foothills for nearly 30 years), because I was still working, still had a few years to go before retirement, and the 80-mile +/- daily round-trip commute to my town job was getting really old - in the winter, I would leave home in the morning when it was still black dark; when I got home at night it was black dark again.

I thought I would move back to my beloved foothills when I retired, but it just was not to be. Why? Because I was forced to realize (and to finally admit) that when a person begins to get some age on them, rural life just becomes incrementally more difficult with each passing year.

I still miss my old place. . . always will. . . - a lot of snow up there at the moment, more than I ever saw when I was there - but I have learned to be content where I am now. LOL, some days still trying to learn that.

Sometimes, as the saying goes, "It is better to want what you have, than to have what you want". I guess. . .

Anne

My experience with seeing old places occurred in 2014 when I took my first very long-distance trip in the RV I bought in 2012. I took the route from the San Francisco Bay Area to Salt Lake City, Yellowstone, Montana, Wyoming, and South Dakota with the goal being Albert Lea, Minnesota which is near the southern border of MN. When I was 6, my parents dropped my older brother and me off at my paternal grandparents’ house in Albert Lea to spend 6 weeks during the summer with them in the house my dad grew up in and also the same house my paternal grandfather and great-grandfather lived in. We had a great time going to baseball games with my grandfather, fishing and swimming in Fountain Lake, walking down the road from the house to watch the trains come into the station, spending a couple hours trying to knock an apple off the tree next to the house only to find when we succeeded that it had a huge worm hole in it, and watching a convoy of Army jeeps and trucks come through town in the early morning.

I found the house easily and parked my 26’ RV out front to just spend some time looking at the house and remembering those times so many years ago. After a while a boy came running by yelling to his mom that there was a “big truck” in front. Soon his mom came to check things out probably thinking I was a stalker. I explained why I was there and she kindly invited me in to see the inside of the house my dad grew up in and where my brother and I spent 6 glorious weeks that special summer. I saw the bedroom I slept in, the window I looked out of to see the Army convoy, my brother’s bedroom and where I watched my grandmother prepare the special meals for us. The apple tree was gone, but the train station, baseball park and Fountain Lake are still there.

That was a wonderful trip for this newby and brought back so many good memories of 6 special weeks long ago.
Sandi

monik7 wrote:I found the house easily and parked my 26’ RV out front to just spend some time looking at the house and remembering those times so many years ago. After a while a boy came running by yelling to his mom that there was a “big truck” in front. Soon his mom came to check things out probably thinking I was a stalker. I explained why I was there and she kindly invited me in to see the inside of the house my dad grew up in and where my brother and I spent 6 glorious weeks that special summer. I saw the bedroom I slept in, the window I looked out of to see the army convoy, my brother’s bedroom and where I watched my grandmother prepare the special meals for us. The apple tree was gone, but the train station, baseball park and the lake are still there.

That was a wonderful trip for this newby and brought back so many good memories of 6 special weeks long ago.
Sandi

Sandi, I love stories like this one.

Thanks for sharing.

Anne