A lost home; a lost opportunity

My mother’s childhood home was torn down to put in a home improvement chain. A house that was built by her grandfather. One that was filled with love, laughter and memories. A place that died when her father did. I don’t presume to know the thoughts or opinions of those who chose to level the building but I can assume that my great-grandfather’s home was a hurdle to someone else’s economic and business needs.



I recently found a box of family photographs, some of which belonged to my maternal grandmother. In showing them to my mom for identification of people I didn’t know she would pause at each picture that displayed the house she grew up in. “I loved that fireplace,” she must’ve said at least a dozen times. “Oh, look at that ceiling. Did you find one with a shot of the cherubs?” She talked about the French doors, the family gatherings, the love she had for that place. And what once made me angry instantly made me sad.


There’s a reason that shelter is an essential part of our survival. To have a place that protects us from extreme elements, gives us a place to rest and privacy. But, in my opinion, it also gives us comfort and community. Pride in your achievements and motivation for reaching a goal. To know that a place that once was loved, valued and honored was destroyed so easily literally tears at my spirit. I hear the cries of pain, the wails of the spirits that once lived and loved there. The sadness of my family members who loved it so. Who gave so much attention to a building that cared for them.


I understand and accept that progress is inevitable. I don’t dispute that or wish us to cease growing, learning and improving. But…at what cost? And I don’t mean that in a financial aspect. What price are we paying at the expense of financial gain? It’s cyclical really. Our community grows so we have more individuals looking for employment. More people in needs of services that businesses provide. So it’s a given that businesses need to expand to be able to keep up with demand. Yet, where does it end?


I am so thankful that I found those pictures so that one day when I sell my book and save up money I can buy my mom a house and reconstruct the fireplace and cherubed ceilings for her. Not to regress but to give her back something that was stolen from her. Something that she loved that was violated, and destroyed while she was powerless to stop it from happening.


A house is more than the wood, steel, furniture and wires that provide protection. It’s a place full of energy. Both positive and negative. It’s an unspoken member of the family. An overseeing guardian. Someone or something to watch over you. To feel along with you.

When our parents sold our childhood home we all cried. It was time. The outer laying community was expanding and congesting. Living on the corner was no longer conducive to our lifestyle. If we could’ve picked up the house and moved it somewhere quieter we would have. But that wasn’t the case. There was some comfort in knowing that a house that took such great care of us as a family was now going to be able to do the same for a new family. There would be children again running up and down the stairs, playing in the backyard, climbing the trees and sleeping on the floor. There’d be laughter, love and holiday celebrations. The house deserved nothing less. So when I drive passed I still blow it a kiss, place my hand over my heart and say a prayer of thanks for a great childhood.


I only wish my mom could do the same when she travels back to her hometown. Somehow I don’t think the home improvement building cares much.

My grandmother and her sisters-in-law (1964)

Patience and Responsibility: A match made here on Earth

I've come to the conclusion that we, as human beings, are moving so fast that much has gotten left on the wayside. We speed, not only on the road, but through our lives. Wanting to do everything at once and before our life is over. Life is precious. Why wait on what we can do now? I get all that. I believe it, up to a point. When we rush through our day without staying in the present then we lose something. What that something is I don't know. I'm not a psychologist, professor or historical specialist. I'm just little ole me, learning my own lessons and hoping to impart some of what I've learned to those who'd find comfort from my experiences.

In addition to racing through our day-to-day existence I've noticed how easy it has become, for some people, to project blame on anyone but themselves. Some drivers apparently don't know how to obey the speed limit in neighborhoods so let's add speed bumps or lower the speed. How does that change the habits or address the root of the problem? I understand that safety is the main issue at hand. Children should be able to walk down the road without the danger or someone racing around a corner. But, as much as I applaud local polictians and neighborhood watch members I also wonder whether people really care to figure out the root of the problem? Or are they more comfortable simply putting a bandage over the issue and saying they did something?

We are responsible for our actions. Not our parents. Not our employers. Not our children. Granted, there are many instances when the actions of others impacts us. That's a given! We're meant to connect with our friends, family and community. But...that doesn't mean we are exempt from taking responsibility of our choices and subsequent actions. We're living in a "He started it" kind of world these days. A country ready, willing and able to shirk our responsibilites and blame someone, anyone, else in lieu of doing what's right, fair and just.

I've been told that patience is a virtue. Is that because it's rare? I certainly hope not. I do know one thing, I'm not waiting for the rest of the world to catch up. They've already speeded on by without a second glance!