Goodnight House

In a world swirling with chaos and emotions, it feels weird to care. A house we lived in for five years, a small Sears kit Craftsman house built in 1924, was recently torn down. It feels like a piece of my history is gone. Just like that: erased.

We moved in on Valentine’s Day in 2003 after months of transition. My late grandmother shoveled two feet of snow so the moving truck could get in. Two weeks later, I gave birth to Sam.

I loved the wooden bookcases and the Craftsman details. I loved the yard, which probably contributed to its recent demise, so big it could accommodate a large but shabbily constructed McMansion.

This Craftsman needed a lot of work: we shored up the foundation, finished the basement, replaced the roof in a job I could only describe as intensely horrible. So much rain poured in through the tarps that the babies went to bed in rain coats and Wellies. We tore out a chimney, and sewed shades for every window, while my grandmother coached me through crooked seams and slippery velvet. We added a deck, planted trees, and painted the bricks around the fireplace.

That house was a part of my life when I worried for the safety of my husband, flying helicopters in the Hurricane Katrina response, or rescuing boaters that had planned poorly or were just unlucky- all of it more important than the next diaper change. That house saw me through feeling helpless as a military wife, with an arbitrary schedule that left me without the ability to do or plan anything, and so far away from my family.

But I learned I could do it! I met some of my best friends, walked on the beach, and celebrated kindergarten and sunshine. I played my flute in spite of feeling a deep sense of loss for my career(?) in music.

But then life goes on doesn’t it? This house will live on in my memories and in my children, always little beach babies. And my life has turned out well.

Goodnight moon, goodnight bat (once there was one in my bedroom) goodnight beach, goodnight house. RIP. You will live on as a password.

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