The House that Was

Seven years ago we bought our first home.  Together, we had lived in two other spaces.  One a graduate school apartment nearing the size of a VW, and the other a mid-century ranch parsonage.

We didn't move to our current town with great joy or even excitement.  Looking back, we don't really know why we moved.  The whirling events of that time in our life is a topic for another day.  I bring it up only to punctuate my apathy towards the house we would buy and move into.

The house was the best option we could find.  (and after 7 years in this community, I am pleased we purchased where and what we did.)  When we purchased it, we only knew it had a foundation.  In a very quick fashion we choose the materials for this home being built for us.  It was exciting and overwhelming at the same time.  When we finally moved it was to a small apartment where we and our boxes hung out for a few weeks before actually moving into the new home, in a new subdivision., in the middle of corn fields.

It was a 1,200 sq ft shot gun style ranch home.  It looked exactly like every other vinyl clan house on the street.  Inside the only color we originally picked came from the blue counter tops I choose--most everything else was beige, in an attempt to please the next buyer.  (Even our paint selection signaled our hesitance to put down roots in this place.)

We moved out last month.  It was a whirl wind move that didn't allow for any emotional reflection or final teary eyed walk throughs.  We were in hot mess-moving panic for 48 hours (straight).  When I think back over the house itself, very little emotion comes to me.  The only real character in the house comes from the yard.  The only place in the house that signals we--in all our unique glory--were there was in the planting of trees and flowers.  We planted more trees than the yard could hold.  Hydrangeas from our wedding were planted along side the house.  Hostas from my husband's childhood home were all around the house.  We amended the hell out of that clay soil.  While we eventually changed flooring and painted walls, our real effort was concentrated on the yard.  This tiny postage stamp of grass was our refuge and entertainment on many a weekend.  In another 5 years (or less) the owners will need to clear out some of what we (over) planted.  But while we lived there it was pure joy to watch the trees bud and the flowers color the yard.

I'll always have mixed feelings about this house--the one I was never sure I wanted to move to.  It is the place I brought all three of my babies home to.  Where they learned to crawl and walk and run.  It was host to nine birthday parties, three baptisms, a brunch, a few informal gatherings and one Christmas.  It is also the site of many heart breaking moments in my life.

It is the kitchen where I had my final phone conversation with my Grandfather.  A phone call where I was encouraging him on in his health setback, while his voice was preparing me for what he knew was inevitable.
It is the den where I first read the email sharing the news that my Godmother had pancreatic cancer.
It is the living room that stood as a metaphor for my life as I slowly let the kids take it over.
It is the space that never quite allowed me to live the life I had hoped I would have as an adult.

It was the home that should have worked but never quite fit me.  But something about that uncomfortableness pushed me forward.  It was from within those walls that I found the strength to join new groups, to actively pursue friendships and fully jump into this new town.

And the sunshine streaming in the kitchen windows may never be replicated.

We got everything we could out of our time there...we lived there until we just couldn't any more.  You can tell that each of us are more than ok moving on from this house.  We don't really talk about it.  No one asks to drive by.  The kids do talk fondly of the person who bought it from us.  I can tell they hope she'll take good care of it and that the home will be good to her.  I hope so, too.

Tomorrow I'll reflect on the home that is.  (surprise, surprise it has no magical properties that instantly transformed our lives....)