That sad moment when you read that your grandparents’ house—the place you lived, loved, cried, anguished, and celebrated through so many memorable moments—is gone.

I can remember my first cookout here and a slew of crazy, good Christmas reunions. My mom told me on the porch that her dad had died early one summer morning. Almost died in that house myself when the flood hit. Got my first bike here. Owned a Doberman and six ducks here at one time. (Did not go well.) Finished my first grad schooI stint with a manual typewriter on the dining room table listening to Free Bird. I also learned to swim in the pond here. Gathered together in this place after Dad’s funeral. Yes, first flirting experienced here—swimming, where else? Watched Daniel Boone, Cher and Donahue with G’ma. Fed a ton of friends and college students in this place mainly on two recipes—burgers and pizza.

Got in trouble a lot, but I never felt more loved than I did in this place. I’ll miss it…

Posted in: Family, Life, Memories