Nostalgia

I dream about my Grandma and Grandpa Adrian's house about every three months.  It's always a version of the same dream.  I'm always trying to, and usually succeeding at, getting inside to see what it looks like now.  I usually spend the dream wandering from room to room and the dream ends with the owner coming home and me sprinting out of the house.

I guess you could call it "Brad and I's house" instead of "Grandma and Grandpa Adrian's house," as we bought it right before we were married and spent our first five years together there.  But it will forever be "Grandma and Grandpa Adrian's house."  Or sometimes, for simplicity's sake, we just call it "314 Toronto Street."

314 Toronto Street

We (and by "we" I mean Brad and I and a ton of other people-our families, friends, and Paul) put a lot of work into that house.  We gutted rooms, re-carpeted, put a dormer in, updated the bathroom, kitchen and porches, painted every single room, did our best to make the basement usable space, and landscaped like crazy.

Me, gutting the main bedroom.  Down came the plaster, lath, cabinets, blown insulation and a TON of dust. (Do you remember that, Jim and Laura?  Yuck!)

Jim and Brad, preparing the bathroom for the dormer.  

Cathy and Lauren, helping water-seal in the basement. 

Brad, Paul, and my dad, putting in new counter-tops. 

Washing, then painting, the kitchen cabinet doors...two weeks before I had Brendan.

We learned how to be responsible homeowners, and we definitely learned about the multitude of things that can, and will, go wrong when you own something.  We made our own memories in that house....we became a family...but I also felt the memories of countless pot roast dinners, playing Spite and Malice at the kitchen table, long naps on Grandma's bed, and I swear I could almost hear the nightly viewing of Wheel Of Fortune.  So much of my emotion for that house is wrapped up in the memories that are within it.  And for the loving grandparents who cared for us there.

Grandpa and Grandma Adrian 

We became a family in 314 Toronto Street

And that's why I understood why I felt a combination of relief and sadness upon hearing that my Grandma and Grandpa Crea's house is now sold.  The house that welcomed us for every chemo treatment, every series of appointments and a summer of radiation...it will now belong to a family who has just started their journey.  I am relieved because I felt deep-down guilt that the house didn't sell right away when the Crea family put it on the market last fall.  And I felt sadness because that house holds so many memories for me.  Christmas Eve's, Easters, Halloweens and Thanksgivings, with family squished into every corner of the house.  Sleeping overnight upstairs, riding bikes around the block, watching old movies in the basement, helping Grandpa in the garden, learning to roller blade in their street, and locking Liz in the attic (what can I say, I'm an evil older sister!  I'm sure she deserved it...)  And the food...homemade ravioli, white pasta, pasta and peas, roasts in the slow cooker, swiss chard, fresh tomatoes with basil and olive oil, creamy cucumber salad...

Grandpa and Grandma Crea's House on Avon Street

But I know it's really the people I miss that ties me to that house.  My grandpa, dozing in his chair with his political shows blaring.  My grandma, putting on her lipstick, surrounded by the smell of White Diamonds.  The home that visiting always meant getting to see cousins and aunts and uncles.

Grandpa and Grandma Crea

So, really, I know that it's the memories that I cherish, and the people I hold dear.  I'm sure I will feel the same sense of nostalgia if my parents ever leave my childhood home, or if we ever move from Montevideo (no, Mom, it's not in the plans!)  And I hope that the next family enjoys many, many years of memories in my grandparents' home...and maybe move that attic lock a wee bit higher!