I couldn’t hang around

After voting in Silver City I went to visit Pat and Margene — Lou’s friends who became my friends. They live across the highway from Lou’s former place (hereafter referred to as LFP). 

Although junipers and yuccas block part of the view of LFP, I could see the new owner had added a large shed and that a Class A motorhome was parked next to the house. Pat, who had been over to meet the new owners, filled me in on the other changes. They had brought in a second shipping container, and added to the fencing so as to contain a horse. No big deal. But the thing that would have offended Lou was they had painted over all the wood on and in the house.

Former owners — particularly deceased owners — have no say in what happens to their property after they sell it. So the new owners of LFP are free to do whatever they want with the place.  After all, the former owners of my house might have been upset I scraped off all the wallpaper, ripped up all the carpeting, and completely remodeled the kitchen. They might have had sentimental attachments to the way it was. And I can tell from Google Street View the current owner of my former house has made a lot of changes that I would have resisted. But it’s her right because it’s now her home.

But logic doesn’t keep me from resenting changes to LFP. I still have attachments to it. I helped build it. I cleaned and maintained it. I lived in it for a couple of months. It was my best friend’s dream house. He was very particular about it. It was an expression of who he was.

So even though Margene and Pat were gracious hosts, inviting me to watch the World Series, feeding me waffles, and letting me use the shower, I needed to get out of there. Too many bittersweet memories. Too much sadness. And some anger starting to brew in me. I’m back in the boonies, doing some venting and healing and remembering. Always remembering.