Home is where the Heart IS.
So, my Dad freaked me out a few days ago, when I received his letter. He has a phone, but he prefers writing to me instead, and I could make a novel from them all.
But what concerned me was he was in a deep depression. Short story, he's got money issues, and while he owns two homes, it looked like he would not be able to sell one, to finish fixing up the other, and he had about $3 to his name, and utilities needed to be paid.
So, I went to visit him today, taking M. with me, the first day I could do so. He was in good spirits, thankfully. He was not in depression anymore, and the stress of his money woes seems to have been lifted, as someone has offered to buy his land, tho' not the house (which is in a bad state, really). He's decided to "take the money and run", and will be moving to Visalia to his other home, fix it up finally, and sell it, so he can finally do some of the traveling his heart is yearning for.
He's 84, but he is still a fighter. BTW, my Grandmother is 105, and still sharp as a tack according to my brother. My Dad figures he will live at least as long, if not longer.
As for the home I grew up in... I don't recognize it anymore. It is falling apart, worn, and not even the plants are the same in the yard. My old fig tree that I once climbed is gone, as is the loquat tree. And the front yard, every tree is different, and maybe one bush I recognized. I thought of looking at my old bedroom, but didn't want to bother the current tenant, or see what had happened to the room I had once painted how *I* wanted before I left for college. No, it is not my home any more. And I couldn't even bare to take a photo of it now, as I would rather have my memories of what love and good memories I remember there, not the sad state of everything about that house.
My heart, and my home are here, in this home, with this family. And I have better & longer memories of my Mom at her home, the Harvard House. That house I grew up in will always be my Dad's house. It was his dream to improve it, and he spent nearly 40 years in that attempt. I was suprised he was finally willing to admit he couldn't finish it, considering how long he's had that dream. But sometimes a person has to walk away from such things, when the odds, years, lack of money, and stress were piling up against him. I had always hated the house because I never felt I could bring my friends over. Which was sad, but true. I usually went to my friend's home instead, and only a few times had my closest friends in my own bedroom. I did have a few parties when I was really young, but that was before my Dad tore out the front porch and closed up the front door. After that, there was too much construction stuff to dare bring anyone over.
And this visit, my Dad actually noticed that I had lost weight! I had lost some 20 pds or so last time, but I guess it is really showing now, enough that he noticed. Something to be said in lifting 50 pd bags of compost and rocks, and the other stuff I am doing in the garden.
After my visit with Dad, I went across the street to the one place I hadn't been to in nearly 20 some odd years, the old drive in fast food joint I used to work at. The owners are new, friendly and had been trained by my old boss, and the place has changed some, but not a lot. They still serve the soft ice cream I once enjoyed, and the frito boats I often ate. There are less burgers, and more Mexican fast food now, so I had a frito boat and some fries for M (she didn't want anything else), and looked over at the old house across the street and pondered. After we were done, I said my good byes to the old house, and drove away. Who knows if I will ever see it again, for they may make it into a parking lot.
Yeah, I am a little sad. I am also a little relieved that I won't be inheriting that old house. I would rather my Dad sell it, and enjoy the benefits of that money while he is still around to enjoy it.
But what concerned me was he was in a deep depression. Short story, he's got money issues, and while he owns two homes, it looked like he would not be able to sell one, to finish fixing up the other, and he had about $3 to his name, and utilities needed to be paid.
So, I went to visit him today, taking M. with me, the first day I could do so. He was in good spirits, thankfully. He was not in depression anymore, and the stress of his money woes seems to have been lifted, as someone has offered to buy his land, tho' not the house (which is in a bad state, really). He's decided to "take the money and run", and will be moving to Visalia to his other home, fix it up finally, and sell it, so he can finally do some of the traveling his heart is yearning for.
He's 84, but he is still a fighter. BTW, my Grandmother is 105, and still sharp as a tack according to my brother. My Dad figures he will live at least as long, if not longer.
As for the home I grew up in... I don't recognize it anymore. It is falling apart, worn, and not even the plants are the same in the yard. My old fig tree that I once climbed is gone, as is the loquat tree. And the front yard, every tree is different, and maybe one bush I recognized. I thought of looking at my old bedroom, but didn't want to bother the current tenant, or see what had happened to the room I had once painted how *I* wanted before I left for college. No, it is not my home any more. And I couldn't even bare to take a photo of it now, as I would rather have my memories of what love and good memories I remember there, not the sad state of everything about that house.
My heart, and my home are here, in this home, with this family. And I have better & longer memories of my Mom at her home, the Harvard House. That house I grew up in will always be my Dad's house. It was his dream to improve it, and he spent nearly 40 years in that attempt. I was suprised he was finally willing to admit he couldn't finish it, considering how long he's had that dream. But sometimes a person has to walk away from such things, when the odds, years, lack of money, and stress were piling up against him. I had always hated the house because I never felt I could bring my friends over. Which was sad, but true. I usually went to my friend's home instead, and only a few times had my closest friends in my own bedroom. I did have a few parties when I was really young, but that was before my Dad tore out the front porch and closed up the front door. After that, there was too much construction stuff to dare bring anyone over.
And this visit, my Dad actually noticed that I had lost weight! I had lost some 20 pds or so last time, but I guess it is really showing now, enough that he noticed. Something to be said in lifting 50 pd bags of compost and rocks, and the other stuff I am doing in the garden.
After my visit with Dad, I went across the street to the one place I hadn't been to in nearly 20 some odd years, the old drive in fast food joint I used to work at. The owners are new, friendly and had been trained by my old boss, and the place has changed some, but not a lot. They still serve the soft ice cream I once enjoyed, and the frito boats I often ate. There are less burgers, and more Mexican fast food now, so I had a frito boat and some fries for M (she didn't want anything else), and looked over at the old house across the street and pondered. After we were done, I said my good byes to the old house, and drove away. Who knows if I will ever see it again, for they may make it into a parking lot.
Yeah, I am a little sad. I am also a little relieved that I won't be inheriting that old house. I would rather my Dad sell it, and enjoy the benefits of that money while he is still around to enjoy it.