A New Chapter

A trip back to my hometown in Tennessee would be incomplete without taking time to drive by the house I grew up in at the top of the hill on Ormand Drive. The last time I was there four years ago, the house looked pretty much the same ... minus some of the trees that once meant so much to me. It was still painted the same color ... Mom's trademark cream and beige ... and the ceramic plaque with the house number painted on it still hung next to the front door. Every time I drive by my old house, my mind is flooded with memories of days gone by ... far too many memories to even begin to recount ... memories of laughter and love and life with family and friends who were so very dear to me. It was on my last drive by the house that I finally understood why the tug to see it each time I go back home is so strong. It's not really the house I go to see, it's the memories that live within its walls that I need to see and feel and remember ... it's the memories that house contains that draw me home, friends, it's the memories.

I didn't shed a tear the day I packed up and moved out of my childhood home, but I cried buckets when Mom called and told me it had sold just a few days after she put it on the market. Even though I hadn't lived in that house for more than 30 years, the feeling of loss I felt was overwhelming. The only other time I've experienced such emotion surrounding the sale of a house was when I had to sell the one we moved into when we came to Kansas City. The day we moved out of that house was most definitely another buckets full of tears day for me for sure, again not because of the house itself, but because my children were little guys when we moved into it ... Matt was going into his senior year in high school when we moved. Just like the house I grew up in, there were so many memories wrapped inside the walls of that house ... both good and bad, so very many memories indeed.

Though it's hard for me to believe, I've lived in my current house for 15 years ... the last seven or so of those years by myself. I've written often about how quiet my house became after my third kiddo Meghann moved out, and there are times when the silence is indeed quite deafening. My house would be considered small by the standards of many folks, but for me and my little wiener dog, it's far more space than we really need. It's a true story and a half style with two bedrooms and a bath upstairs ... two empty bedrooms and a bath I never use. The truth is that other than going to the basement to do my laundry or to cower in my storm fort when the weather gets bad, Ollie the wiener dog and I live on the main level ... the main level with two bedrooms, a bathroom, a family room and an eat-in kitchen. And the even bigger truth is that Ollie and I really don't even need the amount of space we actually live in.

My kids have been telling me for years that I should sell my house and move into an apartment or condo closer in to downtown where I work. Their reasoning makes sense ... no home repairs to worry about, less time on the highway each day, no yard to mow or driveway to shovel, having the means to pay off my debt and save more for retirement ... those are all valid and legitimate reasons why I should sell my house. And I think they're right ... I think my kids are right and it's time for me to admit that it's time for me to start writing a new chapter in my life. I won't lie and tell you that it will be easy for me to leave my little house, and there's a part of me that feels very old even just writing about it. But there's also a part of me that feels like this new chapter of my life will be a grand adventure, and the thought of living in a really cool loft is a little bit exciting. I won't ever actually be able to afford to rent a really cool loft, by the way, but saying that the thought of living in a studio apartment is exciting just doesn't have nearly as much literary charm.

I think maybe it's time to write a new chapter, friends ... I think maybe it is indeed.