Tag Archives: family home

Stealing the Shower!

How many pens do I have?  Oh hell, I don’t have a clue! I pick them up everywhere. Offices, businesses, hotels, restaurants. You name it, I’ll always pick up a pen. Sometimes I feel guilty, like I’m stealing the thing. But the ones I pick up all have some sort of business advertising on them. They are designed to be taken,, Moved around. To spread the word, and fame, of whatever entity has their name inscribed on them. Now a monogrammed pen is a different story!

This weekend I picked up two from the Holiday Inn I stayed in. And I always tale a pad of paper form the room as well. I have to have a place to take notes! Some people are so bold as to take towels and bathrobes from the hotel. But I think most folks would limit themselves to the little bottles of shampoo and conditioner. They are good from travelling.   And if you walk down the hallway while the housekeepers are cleaning rooms you will no doubt seethe cleaning carts filled with dozens of bottles of each.

Two pens, a pad of paper and a bottle of shampoo. Big haul! But what I really wanted to take home from the hotel was… You’ll never guess. Oh wait, the title. Yes, I wanted to take the shower!

It was a little too big to fit into my suitcase. And it would have made a mess ripping the thing out of the wall and pulling out the floor drains. Why in the world would I even think of this you might ask.   The thing is, I’ve been in places where there was no water or bathing, and places where the water wasn’t just cold, it was ice cold! So, when I find a place with nice hot water, and good water pressure, I like to take a long hot shower!

The hotel had a nice big shower stall. All glass and tile and plenty of room to move around. And there was one of those rain style shower heads. Turning it on, the water warmed up quickly. And there was plenty of it coming out! Oh so nice!

My parents had a shower in their house that was anything but luxurious. For nearly forty years I had to put up with this thing whenever I visited. Pink tile. A little tiny shower head. And the hot water only lasted t=for about a minute, then quickly turned cold. And I do mean cold! And worst of all, the water pressure had the water gushing out just like the drip of the Chinese water torture! It was agonizing. Every time. Forty years! They moved now so the shower I get to use at their new place is better.

But I have to give Holiday Inn kudos for their shower. At least in this room. On this morning. Maybe it was a fluke. But for one showers worth, I enjoyed the heck out of it!

That’s part of my story. What’s yours? http://www.personalhistorywriter.com

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It’s Official

Well, after months of preparation, the day has finally come. Bittersweet. My parent’s home is officially on the market. I don’t know if there is a for sale sign in the yard. I would think so. But I found the MLS listing on the Internet today.

It’s a nice write up. Very descriptive. And I’m sure it will entice a good family to buy the house. But there is nothing the realtor could say that would begin to describe or explain the real history of the house. Or what has made it our family’s home for thirty-eight years. It can’t say anything of the family gatherings at Thanksgiving or Christmas. My sister’s wedding reception on the lawn. The horses in the barn in the early years. Nor can it recreate the experience of making the house, as it was in 1975, into what it is today. Ripping out walls. Rebuilding walls. Painting. Patching. Wallpapering. All of the custom carpentry work that went into the dining room, living room, kitchen and master study. There is nothing about replacing the slate roof. Rebuilding the barn when a blizzard caved in the roof. Or my dad’s ritual with the coal burning stove in the kitchen. Every night he would put it to bed. And wake the flame in the morning.

Thirty-eight years is a long tome. A lot of things happened in that home. Good things. Memories I will always treasure. But now my folks have moved and the house is for sale. My dad says it will be nice to sell it, and move on with life. But I know he will miss it. As will my mother. As will I.

The house is one hundred forty years old. The first one hundred were unknown to us. It was a working farm. It fell into some disrepair as the farm family aged, moved on, and sold it. We bought it and revived the place. Not to a working farm but to a comfortable home. And made many memories. Our stamp will always be upon the place. But it is the people inside the house who make the home, not the building itself. Now it’s time for a new family to make their mark. I can only hope they will love it as we have.

That’s part of my story. What’s yours? www.personalhistorywriter.com

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