By Grant McGee: CNJ columnist
THE OLD HOME PLACE
My brother called recently…
“The old home place is for sale,” he said.
The old home place. Now wouldn’t that be something to have? But it’s back east and I’m here in New Mexico.
Do you feel that way about the place where you grew up? Want to go back, walk through it and reminisce? I do and I don’t. I have mixed feelings about it.
My daughter visited the house a few years ago. She just knocked on the door and asked to have a look-see. That was mighty nice of them, letting a total stranger in their home.
It was a little white house with a picture window that commanded a sweeping view of the Appalachians. The view is gone now, blocked by the backside of a shopping mall.
Through the marvel that is the Internet, I found the house listed with a Realtor complete with pictures, and a virtual tour.
There was the living room where my grandmother held court in her easy chair, telling mountain stories while taking drags off her filterless cigarette.
There’s the kitchen where the family used to get together for meals and games.
I remember my grandparents and a spinster aunt sitting there and playing dominoes. While my grandmother and aunt would argue my grandfather, watching to make sure they weren’t looking, he would peek at the dominoes. They never knew he was cheatin.’
And there was my room at the top of the stairs, the window I used to look out of and ponder stuff like where was the girl of my dreams and what was I gonna do with my life. Wow, that was really a small space. It seemed so big back then.
What would I do with the old home place anyway? It’s time has passed and gone.
But it was nice to look and reminisce.