Pictures and Letters

No more 8609 Hidden Bay Trail

It's a momentous day in history. My grandfather closed on the sale of his house, of our family's house at 8609 Hidden Bay Trail, Lake Elmo, MN 55042. He sold the house to Angela, whose last name I don't even know. I thought that house would be there forever. It's incomprehensible to think of it belonging to someone else, of not being able to go there. It's as much a part of me as my own hands seem to be.

This is a day I've dreaded all my life. The magical House at Pooh Corner is slipping into the past tense.

No more "Night Before Christmas"s, no more straining to hear reindeer hooves on the roof, no more lying awake in the twin bed by the window with my mom asleep on the bed in the middle of the room, no more listening to the windchimes blow on the deck, no more Gramma yelling "Murray!!!" or "Dooo-dle!!!" with her voice breaking from the effort, no more digging to find Double-Mint gum in the top kitchen drawer, no more watching Gramma get her birds out of the net/traps/bag on her belt loop and gingerly placing them into the McDonald's styrofoam to-go container on the triple-beam balance, no more listening to her go "Tsss-ts-ts-ts" as she processes the weight and wingspan and tries to decipher the number of the band, no more watching the little chickadee, unscathed, magically escape through the bird-hatch, no more listening to the refrigerator making that unmistakable thud as it latched, no more listening to grampa's booming yawn coming down that dark, narrow hallway, no more counting the animals on the Noah's Ark wallpaper in the bathroom, no more trying to figure out how long the photos have been tacked to the bulletin board above the phone, no more listening to Grampa's voice-mail cut himself off saying "Hyellooo...HEY FRIENDS! Don't hang up! Wait until the beep! We may be here! If you're so-li-ci-ting, hang up!", no more dogs barking to alert Gramma and Grampa of our presence for that long wait in the front entryway, no more Grampa coming to the door on Halloween (or any other day he pleases) wearing his scary mask, no more slimy, funny smelling water, no more "Whooo-oooo??" sound of gramma wondering what's there/talking to her/going on, no more Grampa getting out the "tootsie" or wheelbarrow or chopping wood for the fireplace, no more drawing/ painting lessons in the studio, no more learning about ferns/chokecherries/white pines in the backyard, no more helping clean out and/or fix and/or prepare for a trip in the Hi-Lo trailer, no more walks down to Lake Jane to take Teddy for a game of fetch or look at the pontoon boat or go swimming and feel the sunfish on my feet or take the windsurf-board out without the sail and g'pa in his swim trunks, no more walks through the mysteriously wild woods across the street from their house, no more no more no more. No more.

No more looking through the LL Bean/Coldwater Creek/Signals catalogs with Gramma for a Christmas present, no more dusting off the ceramic/carved wooden/bronze bird collection, no more trying to find a clean plate, fork or spoon, no more watching Charlotte build her lovely little web in the kitchen window, no more looking for cookies or "Chicken in a Biskit" snack crackers above the fridge and/or in the corner of the kitchen, no more Ginger Ale in the garage, no more Timber Lodge Mint ice cream in the basement freezer, no more trying to back out of the driveway without hitting the railroad tie wall, no more mothball closet smell, no more cold cheeks in the warm house after a W with the doggies, no more walks around "The Loop," no more listening to the Barred Owl hooting, no more watching the hummingbird flitting in and out to the feeder, no more listening to gramma Cackle even though she didn't get the joke, no more watching "Pale Male" or Hawaiian surfing videos, no more listening to Boogie Woogie and dancing in the living room, no more looking out the window at the beautiful fresh snowfall on the pines, no more marveling at Gramma's Norfolk Pine or cacti in the sunken living room, no more trying to understand how the hell they collected all those books/artworks/nature figurines, no more trying to count all the birds and bird-things in the house (impossible!), no more laughing riotously with my cousins at the annoying traits of our family while secretly adoring all of it, no more unearthing ancient M&Ms and Easter egg chocolates from Easters decades past, no more admiring Gramma's tender way with us all. Too much, too much, too much. Too much.