My mother called today to tell me that her house in Bucks County, Pennsylvania (the one I grew up in as a teenager) was being sold: the closing would take place in a couple weeks. So strange to see it go after all these years—a little more than a year after my father's death. Not unexpected, the scattering of memory meant making quite a few trips and bringing back all manner of things to Manhattan—including an incredible deco crystal lamp on a gilded base, a beautiful 1880's carpet, an 18th century Spanish table my father used as a desk, slabs of marble and antique shutters and doors. But that's just stuff.
So much memory in a house which is now passing to another family. Memories yet to be made: it is the cycle of life.