Sunday, August 25, 2013
I know I’m not unique in saying that you are buying an era
of my life in that home. It’s a home, after all, where a person has lived and
loved, struggled and swore. Grown. Tripped. Dug up the septic pipes. Tore out
trees. Swung on the swing. Demolished the bathroom. Laid down the floors. Shared
some dreams. Planned some goals. But then…then one day you leave.
I want you to know a little something about that era,
though. So that when you have some unexplained happiness or sadness or inkling
of a feeling that you don’t know from whence it came, well…remember that there
have been lives well lived in your home. And I tell you, sir, I live my life
expending my full potential of energy every day, so pardon me if I left it on
the doorstep.
This was our first home. And we hated it from the moment we
arrived at midnight on a winter night. I won’t go into details here…I’ll simply
say that we did not know how to inspect and buy our first home – otherwise we
wouldn’t have bought this one. Save for the rustic barn and the sweet, grassy
acre, I sobbed for days wondering what we had gotten into. That was over 8
years ago. But you, sir, are lucky. Because I left much love in that home.
Apparently…by God’s choice…just for you.
The love was in the work...Dad and I started with the
laminate wood; we had some experimenting going on, but I’ll trust you won’t be
able to find where. Our skills increased rapidly and that last floor, the first
one you step your feet on when you walk in the front or carport door…well, that’s
the one I like to roll around on. The textured laminate and the pale hue…it’s
still so new, that I didn’t get the time I needed to enjoy it well. And I can’t
even lament the splendid tile we put in, just a couple months before I moved
out…I didn’t know then that I would leave so, so soon. Dad and I were amazed at
our new found tiling-ability. We get cocky like that when we have no one else
to compare ourselves to. We were competing even, just a bit, to see who could
lay just a little bit straighter than the other.
If I told you all the work that Dad and I did together on our
your home, well, you would be able to really appreciate what is before you now.
And why I sincerely hope that you will not be sobbing for the first week that
you live there. We tried to make sure of that. Please see the kind notes left
by my soon-to-be-divorced-husband on some of the house idiosyncrasies. We didn’t
want you to have to figure anything out on your own – we want you to be at
home.
The love was in the living…the sunroom. Ah, the
sunroom. You will get to enjoy the sunroom like I never was able. You have 18
windows. I loved those windows…open to the green yard, tall oaks, and rustic
barn. I was so lucky today, my last day, to see the wind shift through the
leaves one last time…my favorite thing to feel and see out those windows. Love
that room. 15 cats lived there once. Oh, that’s a whole other story. A burden
and a blessing of a story. And 6…6 are left behind to the earth behind that
barn.
Do this for me…enjoy that sunroom as I had wanted to…a
breakfast nook with a recovered wood table, smooth benches. Shelves above the
windows to store a hundred books or more. Lounge in a reading chair facing the
woods – so you don’t miss Mama Fox in the springtime, searching for prey near
the tiny creek or a cautious doe pushing through the layers of leaves from the
prior fall. If you hear some laughter when you’re sitting in peace…I’ll have to
tell you not to be afraid. That was the last place I danced with my mother. Not
long before we found out she had cancer.
The love was in the marriage…of late night movies and
Ben & Jerry’s smorgasbords. The supportive years…the distant years…the
reconnecting years…the falling apart years. Each room played a part...every yard
of that acre was traversed...to try and find a way to keep that era alive. I
can’t go on here. You’ve heard a story similar before, I’m sure.
The love was in the neighbors…oh, and you do not
quite know how lucky you are, just yet. God will provide for you in so many
ways in the years to come, and let me assure you that it will be in the form of
the kindest and most generous folks you’ve ever met. So, please…when the slowly
dying live oak tree that sits so close to the east neighbors’ yard drops yet
another branch, crushing their fence – please go spend time helping saw it and
haul it. And when the neighbor to the west fears a copperhead slithered dangerously
close to her patio from her beautifully overgrown, native-Louisianan-plant yard
– please go wrangle it and relocate it. Be a good neighbor and they will love
you so much, beyond what you deserve.
So, I leave so much behind, you see. I leave you the sweat
of my father, the dance of my mother, the solidity of my marriage, and the
superb kindness of my neighbors. I leave you the best a woman can do in
creating a beautiful home through mostly will and labor since there was never
enough money. I had to stand there for quite some time today thinking of
everything that we accomplished to make that house a home. And apparently…just
for you. Just for you…To Whom It May Concern.
Sincerely,
Lori
P.S. And gosh darnit, you appreciate that septic system that
I expended every last bit of energy I had digging up every year so that you
have an entirely new field of pipe clear of massive oak roots. That, sir, was
my most triumphant accomplishment. Please feel free to call me should you
encounter any problems…I would love to work on that acre again…feel that earth…breathe
in that breeze…hear my mother’s laughter…and get Dad on over for some tandem
digging. For 200 bucks an hour.
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