House of Dreams

Take a good look at this house.

It doesn't look like much to you, perhaps.  It's just an inconspicuous house in a small little village in the middle of Illinois.

But you weren't in the car with all of your siblings when this house came into view and everyone started yelling, "White swing is mine!"  or "I've got red!"  And you weren't in the race around the back of the house to the world's best swing set.

You weren't there at the dinner table to eat the world's best food made by Grandma and hear Grandpa tell the best stories about growing up during the Great Depression, owning a movie theater during the Golden Age of Hollywood and serving in the war.

You weren't there for the hundreds of pool games around the world's best pool table and the brackets that would start with the small girls (myself and my sister) and move on up through the ranks of the older siblings and on to the adults.  The best honor was to play against Grandpa.  I never made it past the first game ever (yes, my sister really was just that much better than I)  But it was enough even just to listen to the world's best record player and watch everyone else play while I ran up and down the stairs.

You weren't there to sit in the Grandpa's best leather chair and pretend to work the crossword puzzle.  My legs were always too short to reach the ottoman but it didn't stop me from always trying every time I visited.

You weren't there in the den where we all crowded in and spent countless hours, poring over photo albums and listened to Grandma tell stories about growing up and dating Grandpa and going on more trips than you could count.

You weren't there to sit on the couch by Carol's side and listen to her talk about things she gets excited about and knit the world's longest scarves.

You weren't there to play the Washer game out in the backyard while the adults avoided the bugs by sitting up on the deck that Grandpa built himself.

It's not that all the memories in it were happy or even exciting.  Some of them were heartbreaking and some downright boring.  I got sent to bed without dessert more times than I can count.  I usually only got to swing on the best swing set when my older, faster, taller siblings all got bored with it.  It was there that I watched my grandpa suffer from cancer.  It was there that I cried to my mother about my fears of growing up.

For those of who have moved and moved and moved again, this house is all we have left of a childhood, of roots.  Our entire lives, us kids always thought, "This is the BEST house!"  If only it weren't in the middle of a state none of us live in, we would have bought this house up long ago with plans to live in it for forever.

It wasn't really a surprise that this house sold so quickly - it IS the best house after all.  But I don't think the new owners truly comprehend just how much of a gem they bought.  If only the walls could talk...

Goodbye, House of Dreams.