The Little House of the Open Door

 

I’m trying to get my parents home ready to go on the market.  Funny, go on the market seems less cold than “sell”. They bought their house the year they were married. It was the only home my siblings and I ever know as children.  It’s a cute little cape cod in one of the many neighborhoods that sprang to life after World War II. By today’s standards it’s a modest home but to my Dad it was a castle.  There was always enough room for anyone in the family who needed a place to stay.  When they moved here from up-state Pennsylvania, my aunt and grandmother came with them.  The little two bedroom house was full from the start. When I came along a little more space was needed so the second floor got finished and viola more bedrooms.  Eventually, my aunt got a place of her own and my grandmother split her time between the two places.  One of my mom’s other sisters moved in with her daughter while her husband, a career army man, was stationed in Germany. My cousin Karen was the only person I ever shared a room with. That stay lasted several years.  One of my other cousins stayed summers because his mom worked full time.  After the twins came along a family room was added. Our home was the gathering place for family and friends. When a neighbor lost his wife to cancer, he and his children spent holidays and had many dinners at our house for quite a while.  When my mother’s cousin passed away her husband came for dinner almost every Wednesday night till he dies.  For that matter, my Aunt may have moved and got her own place but had dinner at my parent’s house almost every night.  I think you get my drift. The house may have been small but the home had enough room for all. It was truly the little house of the open door.

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