Ghosts from the past
I've been meaning to write this post for awhile, but found that it was difficult to do in the days immediately following. By writing about it, it means I've acknowledged it, and that was something I didn't want to do. But it's been a few weeks now and I've come to accept it as real.
I speak of losing a friend or family member of sorts, but not in the living, breathing sense. In this case it's a house. My grandparent's house, which later became my dad's house. I've been going there as long as I can remember (and even before that). My dad recently had to sell it for numerous reasons (taxes, helping to pay for my grandmother's nursing home bills, etc.), despite the objections from my sister and I. In the end though, there really was no other alternative and it had to go.
In the weeks leading up to the closing date, I was recruited to help clean it out. Everything had to either be sold, moved to storage, or tossed. In addition, the buyer had no actual plans of keeping the house, it was bought solely for the property and all the structures on the property were (are) being bulldozed. As a result, I decided I wanted mementos, so I snagged various elements from the house and the yard, spending a large amount of time to get everything I wanted while I could.
Growing up, 115 Chatham was always the site of all the family get togethers, many holidays, large parties. The house was designed for entertaining - a large finished basement with a bar and a dance floor, a poker table, and a first class selection of polkas, easy listening, and big band music (my grandparent's choice in music was questionable - but it was still part of the experience). Outside, the house sat on a large piece of property that sloped down to the river. There were plenty of trees and a spot for a hammock. A large garden and a dock that extended out into the river where the boats were always tied up. There were 2 small sandy beaches that we'd play on as well. In the garage, my grandfather had set up an outdoor kitchen where my grandmother would relegate him when he wanted to cook things that could have smelled up the house (he was a big fan of making his own horseradish).
While I worked away there, especially the hours spent alone, I was constantly reminded of things from my past. I could almost see my younger self running up and down the hill or playing in the hammock. I could see my long gone family members spinning around on the dance floor and my grandfather tending bar while my sister and I played waiter and waitress. Outside I could see other relatives in the garage shucking clams or picking the crabs that were recently caught in the traps down on the dock. My friends were there too - memories of my friend Rob always getting yelled at by my great aunt. And I found the notepad I was using to plan my millenium party - the last big bash at 115. The ghosts were everywhere.
I had a tough time 2 weeks ago or so when I helped pack up the last box and moved it onto the trailer. My dad was waiting for me in the driveway when I said I forgot something and walked around back and took a final look at the yard, the hill, the dock and then went inside - the empty shell. The floors were torn up, the rooms completely cleaned out. I took a final walk through and said goodbye.
It's amazing how a structure can cement itself so permanently in your life. But I guess it's not the structure so much as the events that took place and the people that lived there.
Thanks, 115 Chatham.
I speak of losing a friend or family member of sorts, but not in the living, breathing sense. In this case it's a house. My grandparent's house, which later became my dad's house. I've been going there as long as I can remember (and even before that). My dad recently had to sell it for numerous reasons (taxes, helping to pay for my grandmother's nursing home bills, etc.), despite the objections from my sister and I. In the end though, there really was no other alternative and it had to go.
In the weeks leading up to the closing date, I was recruited to help clean it out. Everything had to either be sold, moved to storage, or tossed. In addition, the buyer had no actual plans of keeping the house, it was bought solely for the property and all the structures on the property were (are) being bulldozed. As a result, I decided I wanted mementos, so I snagged various elements from the house and the yard, spending a large amount of time to get everything I wanted while I could.
Growing up, 115 Chatham was always the site of all the family get togethers, many holidays, large parties. The house was designed for entertaining - a large finished basement with a bar and a dance floor, a poker table, and a first class selection of polkas, easy listening, and big band music (my grandparent's choice in music was questionable - but it was still part of the experience). Outside, the house sat on a large piece of property that sloped down to the river. There were plenty of trees and a spot for a hammock. A large garden and a dock that extended out into the river where the boats were always tied up. There were 2 small sandy beaches that we'd play on as well. In the garage, my grandfather had set up an outdoor kitchen where my grandmother would relegate him when he wanted to cook things that could have smelled up the house (he was a big fan of making his own horseradish).
While I worked away there, especially the hours spent alone, I was constantly reminded of things from my past. I could almost see my younger self running up and down the hill or playing in the hammock. I could see my long gone family members spinning around on the dance floor and my grandfather tending bar while my sister and I played waiter and waitress. Outside I could see other relatives in the garage shucking clams or picking the crabs that were recently caught in the traps down on the dock. My friends were there too - memories of my friend Rob always getting yelled at by my great aunt. And I found the notepad I was using to plan my millenium party - the last big bash at 115. The ghosts were everywhere.
I had a tough time 2 weeks ago or so when I helped pack up the last box and moved it onto the trailer. My dad was waiting for me in the driveway when I said I forgot something and walked around back and took a final look at the yard, the hill, the dock and then went inside - the empty shell. The floors were torn up, the rooms completely cleaned out. I took a final walk through and said goodbye.
It's amazing how a structure can cement itself so permanently in your life. But I guess it's not the structure so much as the events that took place and the people that lived there.
Thanks, 115 Chatham.