Renovation 2

30 plus years ago we had this house built.

The cupboards and floors, windows, bricks

even the sofa are all showing their age.

Spots, stains and streaks here, crumbling

mortar there, countertops starting to curl

and peel. You promised me a new kitchen

more than 10 years ago – I found the video

the other day where, laughing, I made you

promise! Sheepishly, you did. Finally, the

days have come to plan and pick, estimate

and count the pennies. All is set to begin...

yet I hesitate. Because you will not have

sat dawdling over coffee with me in the

new kitchen. You will never have napped

with any of our beloved mutts on the new

sofa. The new hearth will admirably support

the old wood stove, but you aren’t here to

sit and watch the flames with me. The signs

of age this house wears are the signs of

us aging here together -- the wear and tear

of friends, family, kids, dogs, piles of wood

against the winter’s chill, lines of late

tomatoes ripening on the windowsills. The

floor are a messy road map from wheeled

toys, muddy boots, the ladder’s scratch from

each time we needed to deal with that

stoopid skylight. The tiled floors we put

in together will not change, but unless

you are somehow embedded in the grout,

you won’t be present in any other fixtures.

I have lived here for exactly half my life

and until recently, all of that time was

with you. I stumble in conversation when

I hear myself say “...my house” instead

of “...our house.” While technically

that is true, I guess what I’m really

feeling is that while it may now be

my house, my home is with you.