Do you want anything?

 August 2020  My phone rang one evening a week ago.

“Do you want anything?”  Mom asked.  “Someone’s coming in the morning to take the rest of the stuff we don’t want before the house sells.”

Hmm…  What would I want…

I want a piece of siding, so I can remember what color the house was.

I want the window my brother broke with the back of his head (that's a funny story).  

I definitely do not want the light fixture from my old bedroom.  I still have nightmares about it.

I want one of the bathroom sinks that I cleaned so many times, but they never looked clean, so I can show my grandchildren that bathroom fixtures should never be mustard yellow.

I want the bank that I used to shoot arrows at and sculpt mud on.

I want the big picture window, where I would stand for hours watching for my siblings to arrive home from college.  And we would watch magnificent sunsets through it.  On spring mornings we would watch for the spray planes to dive over the orchards. 

I want all the memories that only come back to me when I turn a corner or glance out a window.

I want the wildflowers.  Ookow, soap bush, hound’s tongue, buttercup, Howell’s lily, dogwood, bitter cherry, chocolate bells, hawthorns, wild roses, trilliums…  They were my friends.

And, of course, I really want the fantastic hearth.  But I just don’t have anywhere to put it. 

“No, Mom, I don’t want anything.  But thanks for asking.”

**Two years later, the house has been leveled.  It seemed so cruel, until I realized that my memories are still mine.  Everything my family has become, and how that place influenced us, can’t be taken away by the new owners.  The important things are in my heart, in the present, and in the future.**