Goodbye, House
"Well, Grammie," said SammyGene in the most grown up voice his 9-year old self could muster, "we have to go now." I produced my sad face. "I know. It's sad," he said. "And SammyGene, it's the last time we will gather in this house," I said. And we both cried. "Tell me what you'll miss, Sammy; let's see how we might bring it with us." We walked the half-acre of my little piece of the historic district of Singers Glen VA. With solutions for the needs resolved, we could now look at what made the house a home, the place where we visit Gramma. The outdoor wrought iron-looking picnic table; we moved it to the front so it wouldn't be missed on moving day. "And the bird feeders. Grammie, you have to feed the birds....And the wind chimes; I like to hear them sing." A daughter would miss the built-in baking hutch in the kitchen, and the cubbies where she put her things we she came to visit. A granddaughter wo