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Reflections on Moving Out of a 30-Year Abode - August 15, 2007
I look around our house and can scarcely comprehend that the home I've lived in for 30 years with my husband and three daughters is being passed on to a new young couple.
This has been a happy home: not perfect, far from it, but these have been good, happy years filled with the laughter, kisses and hugs of both toddlers and teenagers.
If you have ever moved from a beloved home, or helped parents move from a long-time home, I hope you can identify with some of the feelings here.
We moved here practically as newlyweds ourselves: so young! I was younger (25) than my oldest daughter is right now, when Stuart and I purchased and moved into this home.
This is the longest I have ever lived in one place.
Here there were lots and lots of Friday night pizzas (before rushing off to high school football games, not so much to see the game as the band, of course, as parents of three daughters). There were the newborns, brought home swaddled in their "going-home-from-the-hospital" clothes, full of parental big dreams for them. There were boyfriends--roses brought, prom dresses admired; there were late nights spent pacing in front of the front door and peeking desperately out the window for some sign--some word from them (before they had cell phones).
There was a sandbox in the back yard and several plastic play pools that we went through (long discarded) and swings (now dismantled). But I guess we'll leave, for the next owners, everyone's favorite rope swing hanging from the tree down by the garden. All the neighbor kids liked to swing on it, too. There was a playhouse my Dad built when the first child was about three (thank goodness that goes with us to the new place). There were so many kitties born here, who were loved, given away, or lived long lives with us but who we've now lost (deceased).
So many wonderful memories, so how come we're leaving? And no, we're not exactly downsizing, a common question since our girls are now mostly grown and gone (one entering her senior year of college this fall). After squeezing three kids into 1100 square feet for 30 years (it seemed like enough space to begin with), we are happily expanding to a modest 1800 square foot home, with its main feature being a large combination living-dining-kitchen or "great room." We want to be able to spread out a long large table for big family dinners (I hope!). It is our "retirement" home, although that seems a long way off, too, and it better be, until we get this thing paid for. But it is to be a retirement home in that it is mostly handicapped accessible (wide doors, living all on one floor) and certainly handicapped adaptable.
We are moving also to get off a steep hill, which had our garden at the bottom of it. Mowing those hills even with a riding lawn mower seemed increasingly dangerous to us as we get older. We are moving away from the encroaching city and gravel hauling traffic from the quarry we lived near, although we may regret that as the price of gas climbs higher.
At the new place, we hope to have room for children who come to visit often and their eventual spouses and grandchildren and lots of parking space (anyone who's ever tried to park company in a small driveway can sympathize). We definitely hope to share the place with friends, relatives, neighbors, and possibly even strangers as we are called upon when folks need lodging.
I think I'm ready to move on. So why does writing this column unexpectedly unleash a torrent of tears?
Good. I got that over with. Now I'm ready.
Contributed by Melodie Davis: [email protected] Melodie is the author of eight books and writes a syndicated newspaper column, Another Way
I look around our house and can scarcely comprehend that the home I've lived in for 30 years with my husband and three daughters is being passed on to a new young couple.
This has been a happy home: not perfect, far from it, but these have been good, happy years filled with the laughter, kisses and hugs of both toddlers and teenagers.
If you have ever moved from a beloved home, or helped parents move from a long-time home, I hope you can identify with some of the feelings here.
We moved here practically as newlyweds ourselves: so young! I was younger (25) than my oldest daughter is right now, when Stuart and I purchased and moved into this home.
This is the longest I have ever lived in one place.
Here there were lots and lots of Friday night pizzas (before rushing off to high school football games, not so much to see the game as the band, of course, as parents of three daughters). There were the newborns, brought home swaddled in their "going-home-from-the-hospital" clothes, full of parental big dreams for them. There were boyfriends--roses brought, prom dresses admired; there were late nights spent pacing in front of the front door and peeking desperately out the window for some sign--some word from them (before they had cell phones).
There was a sandbox in the back yard and several plastic play pools that we went through (long discarded) and swings (now dismantled). But I guess we'll leave, for the next owners, everyone's favorite rope swing hanging from the tree down by the garden. All the neighbor kids liked to swing on it, too. There was a playhouse my Dad built when the first child was about three (thank goodness that goes with us to the new place). There were so many kitties born here, who were loved, given away, or lived long lives with us but who we've now lost (deceased).
So many wonderful memories, so how come we're leaving? And no, we're not exactly downsizing, a common question since our girls are now mostly grown and gone (one entering her senior year of college this fall). After squeezing three kids into 1100 square feet for 30 years (it seemed like enough space to begin with), we are happily expanding to a modest 1800 square foot home, with its main feature being a large combination living-dining-kitchen or "great room." We want to be able to spread out a long large table for big family dinners (I hope!). It is our "retirement" home, although that seems a long way off, too, and it better be, until we get this thing paid for. But it is to be a retirement home in that it is mostly handicapped accessible (wide doors, living all on one floor) and certainly handicapped adaptable.
We are moving also to get off a steep hill, which had our garden at the bottom of it. Mowing those hills even with a riding lawn mower seemed increasingly dangerous to us as we get older. We are moving away from the encroaching city and gravel hauling traffic from the quarry we lived near, although we may regret that as the price of gas climbs higher.
At the new place, we hope to have room for children who come to visit often and their eventual spouses and grandchildren and lots of parking space (anyone who's ever tried to park company in a small driveway can sympathize). We definitely hope to share the place with friends, relatives, neighbors, and possibly even strangers as we are called upon when folks need lodging.
I think I'm ready to move on. So why does writing this column unexpectedly unleash a torrent of tears?
Good. I got that over with. Now I'm ready.
Contributed by Melodie Davis: [email protected] Melodie is the author of eight books and writes a syndicated newspaper column, Another Way
