The Christmas House. The house on the hill. Both those names evoke wonderful memories for me.
In the early 1970s, this wonderful house became a part of our family. I wish I had pictures of that first version to share. The visions in my head are bright and colorful, filled with happiness. The reality is it was a farmhouse that my brother-in-law gutted and repaired while keeping the original personality of the house intact.
My sister and her husband worked tirelessly on the house as the first owners of our family to be its custodians. My niece and nephew were born while she lived in the home. If they were adding to the story, their memories would spill onto the page. It was a wonderful home to live and grow in. And they grew into lovely, successful adults.
Fast forward to the early 1980s. With two children of my own, my then husband and I purchased the house from my sister. We purchased much more than a remodeled house. We became the proud owners of a magical house on the hill. As a family, we thrived.
Over the years we created memories too prolific to list. My son penned his first lyrics, my daughter honed her love of all people and especially the underserved while I typed my first story on an old Compaq Computer from Radio Shack. There were many parties, friends, and family.
Eventually, I moved away from the house on the hill but never gave it up. I lived in Lubbock, TX and then Austin, TX, but still the house stood resolutely on the hill, providing sanctuary for me during hard times. Eventually it became the gathering place for our family through crisis, illness, and holidays.
Thus, the house became the Christmas house. The tree stayed up longer and longer each year. The wreath graced the door of the empty house well into February. The holiday decorations stayed on the shelves and the coffee cups were all Christmas themed.
It was not practical to keep a house empty for so many years, but every time we committed to sell it, something major seemed to come up. When my mother was ill, it was a place for everyone to stay and gather.
My children have moved away and created happy lives. My first great grandchild was just born, and I have moved out of state.
It is time to say goodbye. We have the house on the market. With the holidays barreling toward us, I hope that all the magic and experiences we made in the house continue to make it a home for the next custodians.
Okay, just a few memories to share:
Sliding Down the hill on cardboard boxes.
The fire truck bed my sister built.
The toy soldier mural.
Coffee on the back deck.
Cub Scout meetings.
Christmas mornings.
13 inches of snow.
Holiday meals with family and friends.
Family bonds.
Good friends.
Goodbye old friend…….
Nana's Apron Strings 