Closing a chapter

You'll never guess. After all that build up to our anniversary weekend and what to do about the ring, it turns out we can't go to dinner after all. You see, we have been in the midst of selling Kathy's mom's house, and after months of dithering around with inspectors and such, all of a sudden we have to close on the house next week. This means we will be moving out all the furniture we had left there and clearing the place once and for all.

We worked like dogs to get it ready to show back in November, and had the living room nicely set up with the sofa and chairs and end tables, and the bedrooms downstairs looking like someone lived there still. Kathy insisted on having a bowl of real apples on the kitchen counter. She would even run over there on the Sundays when she knew there was an open house and burn a scented candle.

When we walk into the house, we still expect to see Nana Anna sitting on the couch in her usual spot, just on the end there, where she could see the TV. So many nights Kathy and her sister Priscilla would stay in the house with her. One night our daughter was in town and volunteered to do a shift. Nana called out to Ann, waking her out of a sound sleep, to ask for some ginger ale. Ann went back to bed, only to be wakened again by Nana, who wanted to tell her she was OK now and the ginger ale had helped.

Upstairs there are two bedrooms. When Kathy and I were first married, we spent time in both of them, living for a few months in the bigger room when I was still in college. The small room is squeezed by the ceiling closing in on two sides. There isn't even a light switch in that room--hope no one notices.

Go into the basement. Here is the half bath that Grampa Lou had put in himself. The walls were decorated with wildlife photos from National Geographic and news clippings about hunting, though the only hunting he had ever done was shooting rabbits as a kid growing up in Minnesota. Over here was the card table where I sat one summer writing my Masters thesis in 1973. Around the corner is this other room, there is the bar and the glass shelves behind where the bowling trophies sat. I've seen photos of the family gatherings held down in that finished basement.

Back into the kitchen. How crowded it was when we all showed up for holiday meals. What great treats came out of that space, especially patitsa (not sure of the spelling, but it's Slovenian nut roll), and those fabulous Christmas cookies. I remember all the times we sat around the kitchen table trading stories and learning family history.

Fortunately, we sold the house before the snow melted and revealed the junkyard next door. The random piles of rocks and lumber, a dilapidated green house, a broken down car, stagnant ponds--all the property of an alcoholic forty something man who used to beat his own mother. He would also holler at Kathy's parents at all hours of the night. Now I'm not a combative type, but after I heard about his late night haranguing, I confronted him about it the next afternoon and told him to knock it off, trying to embarrass him about bothering old people. I just cut loose and hollered right back at him. Kathy tried to get me back in the car and was afraid the neighbor would retaliate somehow. I figured him for a coward and I was right. He never did it again.

Anyway, it looks like this chapter of Kathy's and her sisters' lives is closing, as their childhood home passes to new owners. And our anniversary dinner is postponed for another week.