You may have wondered what the heck happened to me the last couple of months. I’ve wondered the same thing myself at times. I was in the process of packing up a lifetime of memories, mine and my mom’s. She passed away last September and the home we shared together was being sold. This leads me back to where I started, in my childhood home.
Packing And Unpacking Are Acts In Futility
I have never been one for routine tasks. Why make the bed when you have to unmake it every night? Hang up clothes? Forget it. I put packing and unpacking in the same category. Necessary, but futile.
I was aware for many months that I would be moving. Because I suffer from a degenerative form of arthritis and have chronic pain on a daily basis, I decided to spread out packing. I worked through the aches and pains that come with multiple creaky joints, but, I got it done…eventually.
I tried to be systematic so that unpacking wouldn’t be as difficult. But, darn it, it can be hard finding the right size box for things. And, let me tell you, genealogy binders eat up a lot of boxes!
This means the important stuff (Instant Pot, Laptop, and old family photo albums) are unpacked. Oh, I have silverware, plates and glasses, too.
But, where the heck is the kitchen spoon rest? And, there’s still the mystery of how my freezer bin jumped out from the rental truck and escaped on the way over.
Returning To My Childhood Home Is The Same But Different
I left my childhood home in 2010 after my dad died. I lived with my mom until she passed away. She was there for me until cancer took her strength. Then, I was there for her.
I hadn’t been back and I did not know what to expect. We loaded up the moving truck and headed home. The old house wasn’t so far away, but it might as well been a different country.
The neighborhood has changed since I left. There was once small farms mixed within the housing tracts. All the old-timers are gone and so are the farms.
I couldn’t imagine making this move without my dog at my side.
There used to be a bunch of greenhouses owned by a nursery just before you got to the overpass. The overpass is still there, but the greenhouses are long gone. The new residents are goats…working goats.
The area is being revitalized. The middle school has a new track and soccer fields. There’s a community center somewhere close by. The old wooden play structure at the park is being replaced by two shiny lime green structures. I’ve got my eye on the two seater seasaw looking swing though I’m so rickety, I’m afraid I wouldn’t able to get off of it.
I was expecting worse, but the old neighborhood isn’t so bad. There are still some familiar faces even if the older generation are all gone now.
I miss old man, Don, who lived across the street. He was my dad’s best friend and my dogs love him. There were 40 years between us, but we’d have great conversations about science, history, and politics.
Something Old, Something New
It was pouring rain by the time we got to the house. We had to park on the front lawn because there were so many cars parked out front–compliments of the lack of parking for the new townhouses that have been constructed.
I stepped out of the moving truck and on to the porch. The first thing I saw was the letter A carved in the porch by god knows who. I’d forgotten that A, but it was like an old friend having spotted it many times running up and down that porch.
The house was the same and different. Those high ceiling that make the house boil in the summer are still there. But, the wood floors are all new–and beautiful, I might add.
The imposing movie theatre style curtains are new. They were left by the previous residents. They’ve got to go. They overwhelm the whole dining area. Different strokes, right?
I’m getting reacquianted with my old stomping grounds and so is Misha. I’m hoping she’ll figure out which door is the right door to go potty soon. Really soon!
It feels right being here. It’s good to be home.
Have you been back to your childhood home? Do you live in your childhood home? Tell us about it in the comments.