2188 Housing reruns

In the late 1960s, my brother bought the two bedroom house my parents purchased (their second, I think) in the 1940s. It's the first home I remember--where I kept falling down the stairs, where I sat on the front porch waiting for the mailman, where I made tents out of blankets and the dining room furniture. After her parents died in the 1960s my mother converted their farm home into a retreat center for small church groups and family reunions. My children have many happy memories of the big house and yard and vistas of cornfields and soybeans because we vacationed there during their growing up years. After my mother died in 2000, my father bought the small Lustron that his parents had built in 1950, and so we were all able enjoy that home a second time too. I almost expected to see grandma, who died in 1983, walking around the corner when I visited him. I never actually lived in the little 1950s home my parents lived in the longest (38 years), and when they sold it before moving to a retirement complex, they turned it over to my cousin's son. My grandparents' farm home near Franklin Grove that Mom remodeled in the 1960s is now owned by my brother, and his son lives there. But a bachelor's tastes are very different, and he likes bare floors and rustic antiques. When I visited there last fall, I really missed Mom because all traces of her are gone.