This Old House

 

6:00 p.m., May 24, 2022. Time to go.

I had a bigger post planned tonight.

More memories.

More everything.

But as I sit in small Room 380 of the Even Hotel in Norwalk, CT, I simply just want to be. I don't want to think.

And I probably want to just let today go.

We did it. We finished a project that had been started and stopped and repeated since Sep 2020.

Then, roughly three weeks ago, it went into overdrive.

I'm still numb.

I'm all moved into my new place in Greenwich but we agreed that I wouldn't take occupancy until tomorrow. So, sure, I could go there at midnight but I got yelled at to treat myself to a comfy night.

Except I'm sore.

My parent's bedroom, which was my bedroom at the end

But we did it. We finished the job today. Every room is clear. I even took a moment and vacuumed. We can't give the new owners a perfect place -- there's a lot of work to be done -- but I can give them little things like clean floors.

Or, at least I tried.

The kitchen

But this is the house. The place Mom recalled watching the Kennedy Assassination in. They never truly knew what date they moved in but we can say "Nov 1963" and have that be sufficient.

A few months later, the family -- then only four -- watched another Fab Four and, overall, were smitten.

The 60s would move along and a fifth family member came along. OK, six if you could Tareyton the cat (yes, named after a cigarette).

The 70s would bring high school graduations and jobs.

The living room

We had the big blackout in '77 and I remember it well. I remember the first Yankees World Series title. We lived all of it in Mahopac.

The 80s would bring the first of the grandchildren as well as another high school graduation.

We watched Chuck and Di and "Friday Night Videos" and listened to Huey Lewis (and changed me) and "Live Aid" and my father watched the Challenger disaster.

And then, in 1989, the house would change immeasurably with the passing of my father.

The 90s would bring more grandchildren as we learned to move along without our patriarch.

And I moved out.

The 00s would introduce Sean to the world.

The 10s would bring me back to help take care of Mom.

The dining room

She died in 2020.

The house lost its soul that day.

That was my baseball field. I stood there once more today and took a practice swing.

Now, on May 24, 2022, it's empty. I could still be sleeping there tonight but, given sleeping on an air mattress last night wasn't fun and I wasn't looking forward to dealing with Rascal in the car, here we are.

I ripped the band-aid off.

We'll get through whatever tomorrow brings us and then move forward.

That's what we do. It's been our mantra since late 2007 and it's funny how that comes up tonight.

One day, the stories can flow. One day.

"Not yet," they say.

So I'm numb. The day has been emotionally surreal. How else can I describe it? 

Highs. Lows. You know how this works.

My original bedroom and, later, my broadcasting studio

I wanted to be in this hotel hours ago but it wasn't meant to be.

I even worked in a podcast recording and Kris was gracious enough to just keep bringing things in while I did that.

Everyone needs a Kris Adams in their life. One of the few people I can truly count on without fail.

So much more to say but, for tonight, maybe pictures of the end of 58-plus years will suffice.

The parties. The picnics. The fights. The Wiffle ball games. The laughs. The tears. The football games. Playing under the back porch and building a town (Friendlyville). The pets. The kids. The neighborhood.

The parents. Both lived and died there.

And, today, we said goodbye and moved on.

After my marriage crashed, I lived here. It actually was much better than it looks.

I didn't bring my desk to the apartment because of space. Part of the reason is that I hope -- despite Greenwich parking being what it is -- that maybe a few of you will come by and help Sean, Rascal, and I brighten the place up.

The Greenwich era has begun. The new chapter will be written.

(New York pizza is still better)

The Mahopac era is over.

I'll be a visitor now.

An unhappy traveler

But the memories will be there.

The ghosts will keep things right.

Sean's room (originally my sister's room)