I’ve been humming that old Dionne Warwick song, “A
House Is Not a Home.”

After years of discussing it, hubby and I finally decided it
was time to downsize. The house where we’ve lived for 24 years was perfect to
raise four children. But now, it’s too big and too much to maintain, and for my
husband with bad knees, has way too many steps. 
But of course, deciding to move from the house where you’ve lived longer
than any other place on this earth, is so emotionally complicated that, at
least for me who is the poster child for never changing anything, the decision
was tough to swallow, even as I knew it was right.

Still, I put on my big girl panties, limited myself to
occasional bouts of tears, and started getting the house ready for market. The
marching orders from our realtor were simple. “Get rid of everything that
has any relationship to you and your family.” Okay, I exaggerate a little,
but the principle was that we were to move our house to Neutral Zone, USA.
No bold colors on the wall; no clever cartoons on the refrigerator door; and
for heaven’s sake, no photographs of the family anywhere. Take out most of the
coats and clothes from the closets so that now each appears large enough to
rent as efficiency apartments. Dishes, pot, pans, flatwear were to be reduced to the
bare minimum, but that’s okay because as long as the house was on the market, I
wasn’t cooking anyway.

What broke my heart? When the paint crew transformed the
sponge-painted yellow bedroom of my daughter, with her initial that had been carefully
painted over the bed, and the door of stickers and signs that said “Keep
Out,” into what essentially looked like a beige motel room. Sigh.

And it did. It opened on a Friday morning and by Monday
night we had an accepted offer. Nice couple who are going to raise their lovely
family in this house that has been our home, our embracing shelter.

And this past week, we started a new chapter. Our bid for a
new, smaller home, a mile from our current location, was accepted. Doesn’t have
the sprawling comfort of our old house. But also doesn’t have three full
flights of stairs! And I am reminded that while our old house is
architecturally just what I like, it is the people I love who have made it a
home. And Thank God, that hasn’t changed. Family and friends can still
gather around for important and not-so-important occasions – and in the
end, that’s what makes a collection of bricks a home.

Marian, the Northern half of Evelyn David