Sunday, July 26, 2015



God tells us not to be conformed to this world.....not to become attached to it .....I take it a step further in that we are not to become attached to "things."  There is the story of the rich  man who asked Jesus what he needed to do, and Jesus told him to sell what he had and give it to the poor.  This saddened the man because he was very wealthy.

Thirteen years ago this month I bought my house.  I knew  the moment I saw it that it was for me; it had my color scheme as well as the fireplace I wanted.  It has served me well.  But, I am not attached to it.  In fact, I am open to selling it after I retire if God moves me.

However, I "do" have an attachment to my parents' home where I grew up, and I am trying to reconcile losing it.  When my parents are gone, I am to sell it and divide the profits.  They have owned it since 1964 and lived in it since 1967.....almost exactly 48 years.  Dad retired from the Air Force for me to begin private kindergarten here.

This house has memories.  I walked through the backyard to my elementary school for grades 1-3; the playground is right behind their house, and now if I visit during a school day, I can hear the kids playing.  Then, I walked the sidewalks to another nearby school for grades 4 and 5.  Also, down the street there was a neighbor with a circular  driveway.  I have vivid memories of racing my bike through puddles on that circular driveway.

When I was small, we had one bathroom for the five of us.  It was not until I was grown that my then-husband and my dad built another bathroom as well as a breakfast room from the carport.  Memories.....

Also, as a child I remember climbing a ladder to the ROOF to help my dad, uncle Robbie, brother, and his friend reshingle the roof.  Dad even remembers me pushing the shingles to my uncle.  Today, I could not do that. As a child, I was brave and wanted to be a "big" girl.

I found out there is no Santa in that house.  On Christmas Eve one year I let our poodle out one more time before bed.  Behind the house was a box.  When I peered in, I saw the desk that Santa was to bring me later that night.  I just knew at that point, but I kept it to myself.

It was in that house that I remember the fake white Christmas tree of the early '70s.  I loved that white much so that I bought one myself a few years ago.

It was in this house that I began my fascination with current events.  I can remember by third grade sitting at the dining table eating breakfast while simultaneously watching the news and reading the Charleston newspaper.

When my husband and I separated, my son and I lived with my parents for nearly three years.  That house has special memories for him as well; he has his own attachment t.

So, I am trying to prepare myself for the day when my brother, son, and I meet at
 the house to take what belongings we want; the rest I plan to sell and add to the estAte.  It will be an excruciating time for my son and me as we realize we will be saying goodbye to the house that has been such an important part of our lives.  

I constantly remind(talk myself into) myself that it is "just" a house, and the memories will live.  I must not love the things of this world...........