Memories Are On Their Way

Today, I noticed two ladies sitting in front of my house with lap dogs in their laps pointing. At my house.

So, I walked outside. They rolled down the window of the car and shouted from the curb, “Our aunt used to live here”.

I shouted back, “Well, do you want to come in and take a look?”

They said, “REALLY??!!!” as they tossed their two lap dogs in the back seat a little too quickly, and jumped out of the car. They were sisters.

“Are you serious?”, they said. “Of course! I wish that I could walk through my old house in Texas where I grew up again.”

They immediately started oohing and aahing over my “new” home. I told them we had only been in the house a couple of weeks. They were ecstatic over the mail drop slot that they used to play with as kids visiting their aunt. “Does the mailman still use it?” they asked. “Yep!”, I replied.

They pointed out the wrap around fireplace that was original and were excited to see the built-ins were still in the hallway. They told me where the Christmas tree used to sit when they would come over on Christmas day.

They walked out in the backyard and argued over whether it was level like it is now. They were amazed by the new addition, and they told me two little girls (their cousins) used to share the tiny bedroom my daughter has all to herself now.

You could tell that the memories were flooding them. They remembered a recess in the wall that was covered up now where a phone used to sit. And, they talked about how the un-finished basement used to be really scary to them with its steep stairs and fears of spiders. They were scared to go down there. This used to be a VERY tiny two-bedroom home. Now, it seemed spacious and modern to them. They said several times, “Now, I could live here!”

They wanted their cousins to see it, and I told them I would email them photos of the house. And, I did.

After they left, I was happy I got to share in that moment with these two sisters that I had just met. I could tell how much it meant to them. And, I thought of my own children who told me in the car yesterday how much they missed their old house. When they told me that, it made me kind of sad. But, I know that it just takes time.

Because the longer you live in a house, the more memories are built and the more that house becomes a part of you and your family. It just takes time.

We are starting one memory already.

The kids get a nickel (we are going to go broke, I tell you) for every apple that falls from our apple tree that they pick up. In hindsight, maybe a penny would have been better. Avery picked up 200 in just a couple of days. I know they will remember picking up all those apples, and the money they earned from it. Sure, they won’t remember what they might buy with the money, but they will remember picking up all those apples, and learning about the value of work, and tithing, and savings.

And, maybe Chandler won’t remember falling down the back porch steps and cutting his head open, but I will.

And there will be get-togethers and best friends made in this house.

There will be cousins who come to visit (like this weekend) and quirks about this house that we grow to love.

There will be heartache and happiness that will eventually fill every corner and crack. There will be joyful sounds and painful ones that echo into the years.

There will be memories that will one day flood back when we look at a bedroom that used to be shared by a baby and his big four-year old brother. Or by the 7-year- old who was thrilled to finally have a space of her own.

This house that we are still trying to figure out which light switches do what, will one day feel like a part of our own selves.

I can’t imagine being like the lady on my street that I just met, who brought us a plate of cookies, who has lived on this same street 63 years.  But, as much as I love change, I love the idea of all those memories being locked under one roof. 63 years of memories sounds nice when you compare it to just 17 days.

I can’t imagine what she must see and feel when she looks at the walls of her small home that someone will most likely update and change when she dies. It is sad in a way to think of that possibility. But, for now, I like to think of her sitting quietly in her house that is full of love and heartache, and imagine that her heart is full of mostly the happy memories, as she looks at the rooms where she used to rock her babies to sleep. That even though it is different now, those walls….those rooms….can take her back to a place in an instant where she wishes she could be again.

And, I decide, when I think of her, to find joy in all those memories that are on their way to our little home.