#36: "moving out"

My parents are starting the unenviable task of moving out of the house they've lived in for the past twenty-seven years. They'll be out by next year.

I'd love to say that house was a great place to spend your tween and teen years, but that would only be true if you really enjoyed pine trees. When we moved in there were so many pine trees growing so close together that we couldn't see any of the neighbor houses. There are fewer pine trees now; the years of hurricanes, storms, snow, and ice have broken their tall, slender bodies. They're not really made to last.

When we were still building the house it felt like it would last forever. It's a good size but never felt expansive, and the four of us fit comfortably in it once the basement was finished. The house was big enough for the four of us to very much be individuals under one roof; I don't think we ever really watched television in the same room much, if at all.

This many years in and the house isn't what it used to be. The wooden stairs into the house are getting rickety - even the set I helped rebuild ten years ago. I wouldn't even test the stairs to go up to the room above the garage; I tried them a few years ago and I wouldn't even send the dog up there now. Inside the house the furniture is starting to look like it's nineties vintage. The bathrooms need replacing, both because of the age of the plumbing and the style. The carpet in the bedrooms has long since given up its ghost.

Some of the house has survived two discontent teenagers. We smashed a few of the walls (and I'm talking about body sized holes through the drywall), threw a few television remotes at each other, but the place is still standing. The kitchen has miraculously survived mostly intact; likely because neither my brother or I were as interested in cooking then as we are now so we avoided that room. My mother's antiques are even still in one piece, though the old pump organ they have doesn't play like it used to (pretty sure we broke it). I even built a huge extension on the back porch that was engineered to hold a hot tub (that my parents bought and then disposed of) but ended up over-engineered enough to hold a small hatchback (which i'm still sad we didn't actually try). At least the pool table in the basement, the one that's too close to every wall in the room, is still a good time.

I honestly thought that my parents would die in that house. I thought they'd slowly start migrating to one floor and leave the other floors for my and my brother's family when we came to visit. My father has everything he could ever want at that house - a 50yd. shooting range, a pool that he can stand in and still drink a beer, and a two car garage that he really only uses about 25 sq. ft. of. My mother only has a house that taught her how to and how not to build a house, all learned the hard way. That seemed like enough for them.

When it's gone I'm sure I'll miss that house. I won't miss it enough to go back and look at it, nor will I ever miss it's location in Prince George County to ever go back there once my parents finally leave. For what they're worth I'll have memories, both good and bad. It's just a house, though, and the memories will inevitably fade. They're not really made to last.