I enter the land of no internet tomorrow as I board the plane to visit my parents in Arizona. Of course there is internet, but to get it, I have to go to the nearby library or a Starbucks which I’ll do, but not for long each day. This will be family time and I intend to enjoy it. I’ll be blogging every day but won’t be able to get much reading done, so apologies in advance. The almost-two weeks I’ll be there will fly by all too quickly but will be fun, even while I’ll miss Bill.
For those of you not familiar with Friday Fictioneers, a weekly photo prompt serves as the springing-off place of a story of 100 words. Sounds easy, but it ain’t necessarily so. You’re welcome to join by going to the home page or just read any other stories by clicking on the link at the end of mine. Warning!! It’s very addictive.
My story this week is non-fiction. We sold our house at the end of August and, in a week, moved from the home we’d lived in for 28 of our 29 married years. When we put the house on the market, I emailed the realtor once about something at “our home.” He told me to think of it now as a house, not a home, that you sell a house. “Home” has an emotional connection it’s best you to try to avoid when selling. This story springs somewhat from his wise words.
copyright Dawn at Tales from the Motherland
A House is Not A Home
We found it accidentally shortly after our marriage. Light streamed in through over-sized windows, sixties-hued carpet concealed hardwood floors, the kitchen sported forest-service green linoleum. It seemed as if we could never fill the space.
Over twenty-eight years, we chose furniture, gloried in the light, decorated, planted, mowed, set up bird feeders, fostered pit bulls, hosted friends, enjoyed two daughters. The space filled with laughter, learning and love. House morphed into home.
When the movers left, light shone in, floors glowed, the paint was perfect. Memory-filled house, no longer a home, waited emptily.
We drove away.
We didn’t look back.
This, that and the other thing 