A House Built On Memories

A House Built On Memories.

I guess that's what this is.  I guess that's what all houses are made of, memories.  This lake house's span generations.  Mine and those who have lived here before me.  There are memories here of the Fourth of July, of playing cards during summer thunderstorms, catching my first fish with my grandfather, and the time I transformed the fire hydrant into a red, white, and blue soldier for the bi-centennial.  They are all here, by this lake.  The moment we step over the threshold, memories come to life and the walls listen and watch and take it all in.

And so I am in this house of benevolent ghosts.  This house has all my things now.  My parents' things are here, as are my grandparents', and even a few of my great grandparents'.  If that sounds pretty crowded, it is.  These things, and they are just things... each carries on a conversation with me, as I try to sort, donate or throw it away.  Every book, every letter, every photo, every piece of clothing shouts, "Look! Look at me! Remember!"  It is a daunting task to cram three generations of stuff into a lake cottage.

On arriving, I set out to empty closets and purge and to make space here.  But this summer saw me sitting on the floor stuck in time, going through my grandparents' stuff, unable to move forward or accomplish much of anything.  There are time bombs planted, ticking with emotion.  There are lovely memories that do not bring forth happiness, but rather a melancholy longing that for me, borders the lands of depression where I dare not tread.  So the boxes, filled with my life, are still homeless here.  They do not know how to fit in until I accomplish the task of making room for them.

My books fill the shelves though.  My most important books are downstairs, while their lesser brothers line the walls upstairs.  I have too many books.  I will always have too many books.  I made a concerted effort last weekend to start on a large downstairs closet and tackle a box, three feet high, full of papers my parents had written.  letters, cards and pamphlets from every vacation, and correspondence from the days they first met.  There was artwork from my days in elementary school and every report card from the time my brother and I started school.  Every report card?  Do I keep them?  Do I throw them away?  What if I discover the cure for cancer?  Are they important then?

I feel as though I'm living in a time capsule.  As a teen, I told my mother that coming to Iowa was akin to going back in time.  I still feel that way.  Not much really changes here.  Businesses may come and go, especially in Clear Lake, where a business must survive the non-tourist months, but entire buildings and city blocks remain in place, and if you look up above the street level facades to the second story of these two story buildings, time stands still.

I come from the heart of Silicon Valley, Mountain View, California.  I grew up there.  I was born in Palo Alto.  This area is the home of Google and Facebook.   I was taught to program computers with punch cards when I was 12.  This whole way of thinking and the industry surrounding tech started in the 1970s.  To see a building over 50 years old in Mountain View is to stop dead in one's tracks and stare in wonder.

When I was three, my family moved from Palo Alto to Mountain View.  We bought the first house in a tract home development that replaced an entire apricot orchard.  This area was known for its cherries, apricots, walnuts and other produce that grew in a land of such temperate climate.  Orchards and farms filled the valley, but by the mid 60s, were vanishing rapidly.  By 1980, the place once known as the Fruit Basket of the World had changed forever into Silicon Valley.  The last working farm in Mountain View came down in 2006 and 150 luxury homes now stand in its place.

So I have moved here, to Clear Lake, to the lake cottage that was the destination of so many fun summers.  I'll reveal my reasons for moving here in a subsequent story.  For now, I will tell you that for the first time in my life, I saw snow fall from the sky this winter, and that until now I didn't understand the meaning of the word homesick.

I understand it now.