My parents sold our house this summer. We lived there about 13 years...from 2001 to 2014. It was a classic, red brick house. Three stories, a game room on the top floor, a room above the garage. My dad put in a fountain in the backyard after seven trips to Guatemala. In middle school, a lightning storm hit the roof and it caught fire. We lived in a hotel for about a week then. Yesterday, my mother remarked on the kitchen countertop: "if I was hosting another open house, I would tell them this kitchen counter is the best place to work on school projects." Invaluable. The memories that is.
People ask, were you sad? That they sold it? That you're moving? Honestly, I think once I left for college, and my mother repainted my room from the yellow of the Santa Catalina Arch in Antigua to a boring beige, and the photos came down, and the bedspread replaced, and the bathroom redone...it stopped feeling like home then. So no, I'm not sad. The Houston chapter of my life is closing up nicely.
So where is home now? I think home is located in Flatonia, Texas.
