Our first house. Franklin Square, N.Y.

May marks my 25th year in Florida. It also marks Al's 73rd birthday. We also moved into our first house in May 1973. We were only there for 3 years till we were transferred to Kansas City.  Al's sister Ana and her husband Jerry loaned us the down payment so we could escape from Jamaica. N.Y. His Mom and Dad moved in with us into an upstairs apartment. Things were going south in Jamaica at that time and after they opened the Methadone clinic and opened a  house for the homeless near-by it was time to go. The final straw was the attempted robbery of the lab downstairs . The robbers had asked who lived upstairs and the technician had the presence of mind to tell them there were men at home. They didn't bother me and the children but after that it was too much of a worry.

It was only a house. The first house they ever owned. It was palace compared to what they had known and grown up in. They painted and scrubbed it and added their touches everywhere. It was as if it was a physical manifestation of who they were. They welcomed everyone into it. They partied and planted and cried over sadness. But most of all they could remember love. Here he had kissed her while she vacuumed. Here he had pinched her while she cooked, here he had lain on the cement trying to fix her car. Here he planted and there he built. But most of all, here in this room they had lain down together. It was as if the very air in the room still carried the echoes of whispers and the sighs of pleasure. Here she had watched him shave always marveling at his body sometimes with a towel wrapped around his waist. Here and there they had prayed together and studied. In this spot they had argued and spoken despicable words which could not be taken back, but whose wound would be bathed in all manner of kindly acts to make up for the hurt. Here he had confessed he was drawn to another woman at work and wanted to make sure she knew that nothing had come of it and he was finding ways not to be in her company. He had given me a beautiful pearl necklace to make up for the fact that he almost strayed.

It was sort of like a cross between Mad Men and Everybody Loves Raymond, if you could picture that. We were living the dream in the burbs. He was working as director of film logistics for a company that loaded the cameras and big reels of film aboard the airplanes. A 9-5 job at last. It didn't last long. Another crunch , he was let go . Eastern wouldn't take him back and he was lucky to get a position with TWA working in Manhattan. Another crunch he was let go, during this hiatus Daniel fell off his bike, sustained a hole in his skull  and we incurred major, major medical bills . TWA rehired him and paid the bills. That led us down a road that took us to Kansas City with a company transfer in 1977. We paid $ 55,000 for the house and the mortgage payment was $489 including taxes and insurance.  Today the estimate is $375,000 for 1600 square feet.

The sadness comes from thinking that the visual reminders would not trigger the memory. In that house she knew who she was. The places she was going had no memory of her. That is partially true. When she returned one day to the old house, it was in better shape, the new owners had prospered. She had an x-ray vision of love that she could see through the brick exterior into the rooms and here was where this happened and here was where that happened and here is where she was the happiest. And here it was that she was the saddest, except for the day he died, except for the day she knew he was going to die and nothing could stop it.

She lives in a house now that is mostly of her own memory making. It has no memory of her when she was young and fit, and could captivate just by walking down the street. It is happy enough and the opportunity to keep out every annoying thing is a luxury. But a part of her heart still lingers in the crevices of the first house. Like the first love, it has a sweetness of it’s own and a memory unique.

She has learned that a house is not just a house but also a home. It is something special.

Life does not always afford us the opportunity of staying put but it does enable us, to use a cliché, grow where we are planted, and establish a house of love and hope and doing good things wherever we may be on our road to returning to our home above. Perhaps it is that Heavenly home we are trying to turn our houses into. The memory of it never does quite leave us. Imagine the joy when we return and remember here is where we were first touched by the finger of God.