The Rock House, Part One

My parents closed on their new house this week, one day after signing the papers on their old home.  I am incredibly excited about them moving closer to us...within walking distance, even!  There will be many memories to come as they weave their wisdom into our daily lives.  But a new chapter can be best embraced when the old one has been carefully reviewed, paying attention to the little details that burn the story in your mind.  With that in mind, please indulge me this sentimental rambling as I close this chapter of my family's history.

This is the family homestead, designed and built by my father's parents in 1951, for a family of seven.  By my best guess, her children were 11,  9, 6-yr-old twins, and 4.  Makes me tired just thinking about it.  Those kiddos moved into that house and broke it in for the rest of us.  Those five kids had 14 grandkids and now, I don't know how many great-grandkids.  This house has sort of always been the family anchor.  So it is very surreal to think of it not belonging to "us" anymore.

I remember weeks at Grandma's house in the summer with my cousin; Christmas with all the extended family; gumbo dinners that I turned my nose up at; the smell of oil paints, chocolate chip cookies, and dusty farmers.

This oak, this mighty oak.  How many children have climbed its branches?  By the time his youngest grandkid came along (me), Grandpa had propped a ladder on the lowest limb to make it easier to get into the giant center.

How many brown grocery bags of juicy Satsuma oranges have been picked from these trees?  How many hours of hard labor invested to keep them producing?

How many feet smoothed those pavers as they pushed back and forth under the shade?

And this door.  How many welcomed, hugged, invited through that door?  Can you hear it slam when the children run out?  Can you hear the slow creak as she tempers its speed and says one last goodbye?  Maybe the old chime that sang when the wooden door was closed again?

How many nervous jumps off those steps?  "Can you do it from the top one?"  How many concerts sung, recitals performed, tricks displayed on that stage?  Me and my cousins, then my children and their cousins.

That frustrating gate latch!  It took me years to be able to lift that latch high enough to swing it open.

Same for those cabinet pulls with built-in childproofing.  I see their genius now; but good grief, how many times must a child pinch their finger in the button before figuring it out?

Apparently not enough to keep us from playing in the hamper.  "Welcome to Jack-in-the-Box.  May I take your order?"  You know, I played in that hamper many a time, but it was my own girls who showed me the side panel came open (for plumbing access) and the hole on the other side was large enough to sit in!

And what can we say for the floor heater?  Many a warning about that floor heater!  So grateful it was "just for show" by the time my little ones were mobile.

Speaking of warnings.... how many little children warned not to leave their toys lying about?  You never know where they'll turn up!  "Look what happened to your Daddy's toys."

How many more caresses did those toys get for being preserved in that wall?

 How many years planned and arranged on the inside of that cabinet door?

Oh, the very many dishes washed at that enormous sink with the built-in drainboard.  And the stories that sink could tell of the conversations shared while doing dishes.

Then there's the awfully avocado oven that's baked up thousands of batches of loving kindness.  And I do believe there has always been a Bible on that corner shelf.  More wonderful is that I think there has always been someone to read a Bible every morning in that kitchen before the sun comes up.

You get the idea.  Every nook and cranny of that house has been loved by lots of people.  It's been showing its age for awhile now.  Memories don't usually share the ugly parts, like all the maintenance and upkeep that comes with a house that old and that loved.  That's why I'm glad my folks can close the chapter on this part of our family history.  It's starting to be a not-so-fun chapter to read every day.  And it's much more exciting to be part of our daily chaos.

To be continued...