It can happen to anyone. I just never thought it would happen to me.
One day, you’ll be in a happy place filled with warmth, love, and people who appreciate you. The next, you’ll be the site of an estate sale; a few days later, you’ll be empty and alone.
Yep! I’m that gorgeous place in the picture on the right. I was not even twenty-five years old. Yet my family decided to move into a “Senior Living Community.”
I thought they could hang on for a few more years. However, they wanted to move while still young enough to handle the change. A change like that can be taxing, whether young or senior.
The man of the house even wrote about their journey from homeowners to apartment dwellers. He said the road they traveled for several years was like climbing a mountain without a guide or extra oxygen.
While I understand why they left me, the sudden shift from home to house for sale was a shock. Thankfully, they didn’t abandon me. They came by often, checking to make sure I was okay and being cared for. Still, it wasn’t the same. I knew I’d be all alone until someone new decided I was the house for them.
It took a while for the right people to find me. These were people who weren’t worried about my ski slope-looking driveway. They also weren’t concerned about the lack of a pool. Of course, the terraced lot worried some, and not without good reason. I still remember the day one of the grandkids was having a great time. He watched his granddad and older cousins chase model airplanes up and down the driveway and the street. He jumped up and down on one of the retaining walls, yelling, “Throw it to me!”
Suddenly, he jumped toward the street and disappeared into the shrubs below the wall. He wasn’t hurt, but he was white as a sheet when his grandpa pulled him out of the shrubs. Yes, the good news about my builder’s plans was the terraced lot. The bad news was that it was on the side of a hill.
The driveway became a playground for neighborhood kids with wagons, skateboards, and what have you. Of course, the lot also attracted the kids who wanted to play hide-and-seek or war games with toy guns. That was another thing that’s changed.
Block parties and kids playing were regular happenings when my first family moved in. Today, the kids are older, and so are the parents. New folks are moving in. Still, it will take time for things to return to the good old days before the COVID crisis.
Before I go, nostalgia aside, I am eagerly awaiting my new owners. I hope they have kids who like to run around me and up and down my stairs.
Copyright © 2026
Me and Momo are getting close to that scenario. At our age, we are one fall and one broken hip away. I’ve had many house, and they all had their own personality. The one we are in now will be our last, unless we make a move to Marfa or Fort Davis and live in a Yurt or a small desert shack. In my childhood, 1950s, there was one house that I thought of as home. I drove by a few years ago to see how the place looked. I was shocked that the neighborhood had become the Barrio and there were cars parked in yards and the once Leave It To Beaver feel was lost forever.
After doing the rental house shuffle growing up and working my tail off to own my home once I was the head of a family, moving back into an apartment, no matter what kind of fancy name it’s given, has been a major downer. Thankfully, we’ve met some good folks here and run into some old friends who made the same choice we did. Still, it is hard to think of this place as “home.” I have a rough time remembering to call our space an apartment instead of a suite or room.
We lived in an apartment off of Hulen St. for 6 months while searching for another house in Granbury. I hadn’t lived in one since the early 70s and it was a real bummer. My dog hated it, Momo hated it and then I found out I had cancer and went through all that hoop-la. It’s hard going from a house to a small space where you can’t get out of each others way.