Ode to 327

Goodbye old house. It seems a little strange to only be saying goodbye now, seven months after we moved out, but I suppose that until you sold two weeks ago there was still a little part of me thinking we might end up back within your walls at some point. The photo above was taken in December 2007. It seems such a long time away now, even though it isn't really. The kids were playing in the backyard as Dave shoveled the snow off the skating rink, Christmas lights twinkling all around. Not knowing then that it was our last winter there, I ran to the front of the house wanting to capture you as you were, glowing with so much warmth. We go a long way back, you and me. The slumber parties and summer parties I remembered from my childhood evolved into birthday barbecues and friday pizza nights for my own children. I felt so lucky when we got you, feeling we had magically been given the perfect place to raise our family. I remember the day we moved in, Mairi had left a little pair of red rubber boots in the entrance, and an orchid in a vase on the shelf by the kitchen. It was just me and my little three-month old firstborn in that almost-empty house for a short while before the movers (Dave, Al, George, Blair and assorted offspring) arrived. There were still some raspberries for the picking, and Cam found a soccer ball under the porch and started kicking it around with his cousins. You were home immediately. I would have liked to pass you on in a similar manner, scrubbed you from top to bottom, given your walls a fresh coat of paint, and left some flowers on the shelf for your new owner. But there was no time. Once we made our decision to leave it was as though we had to race to the finish line, because there were too many reasons not to go. If we had slowed down it wouldn't have happened. So all that is left is to say goodbye. Goodbye and thank you, old house.

And especially to those who made it possible for us to live there; Dave, George, and Mairi. Thank you.