There's a House
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There's a house whose rooms
I know by heart
Where I tended the garden
and read my books,
Where dreams were dreamed
and memories made,
Where children grew up
and I grew old,
There's a house
where life was lived.
I have just returned from an Easter vacation in my hometown in New Hampshire, where I visited my Mom who is soon to be 75 years old. The picture of the house is the one where we grew up and was built by my Dad in 1957. Just recently the State of New Hampshire bought this house and land from Mom, so that a road could be built through the property. She had spent 40 years in this house where children were raised, and books were read, and gardens were tended and most of all where dreams were dreamed and memories made. I know that progress is all important, but when it interrupts a life well-lived, it gives one cause to wonder about priorities. Mom is now living on a new piece of land in the same area in one of the new modular style homes that have become so popular of late. She still has a basement full of boxes and a front yard full of sand, but this will all straightened itself out with time. The house is clean and bright, with no marks on the wall and as yet, no memories in the corners.
Go Ahead to the Children's Room
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