January 20, 2016


The farm house is being demolished this week.  For a year and a half, my family has asked if I want any of the items I've long-forgotten from the house.  I don't want any of it, and I can't stress that enough.

The things I want from the farm house aren't tangible.  How can they not understand?  I want dancing for hours in the living room; pool shenanigans with Danielle; stories at the dinner table; kitchen baseball with Brea and Casey; locking myself in my room with a new cd; late night horror movies with Regina; playing in the front yard with my nieces and nephews; the comfort of knowing my brother is in the next room; spooning my Baby Bear.

So, no, I don't want the table and chair set from when I was six or my junior high dance team jacket.  Those things don't hold any meaning for me.  They're just things.