Today, I’m sending you over to another corner of the Internet, A Breakfast Serial, where I guest blogged about my childhood home in suburban Chicago. Here’s a little excerpt:
I’ve already started to think about what I’ll do when my parents move. I’ll miss my home itself, and the easy way I can maneuver around even in the pitch black, sure of every wall, every door knob. But what I’m most worried about is losing the physical anchor to all my memories, the neat storage space of my past.
The thought of a new couple moving in, oblivious to what has transpired here, is like a punch to the gut. I want to walk the next owners through the house, wagging my finger in their faces and reiterating how special this place is. “My dad did all this woodwork on the wall by hand, himself. There are two very important dogs buried there beneath that bush because it was their favorite shady spot to lie. The basement is a fantastic place to Rollerblade when it’s cold outside. Did you know there was once a 20-foot homemade rock climbing wall in the backyard?”
Head on over to read the rest, if you like! Thank ya.