Snow Globe

When we moved to our new home in 1994, we thought we’d stay for about five years. Twenty-two years later, we finally boxed up our belongings. Our old neighborhood was a good one for raising kids, but we were empty nesters and we needed a change. However, a house is more than walls and a roof. It represents one’s roots. One’s past. That home saw all three kids grow up. It’s where my brother and mother-in-law, both gone, had doled out some of their last hugs.

As I walked from empty room to empty room, images flashed. I saw my oldest son, just shy of 13 when his sister was born, who had to move downstairs to the lone bedroom because there were only three rooms upstairs and the new baby needed his. He didn’t know how sleepless his move downstairs left me, or how often I checked on him in the night. 

In our middle child’s room, I saw my second son ducking under red yarn which he had tied in criss-cross fashion so that it stretched across his entire room. The yarn was red “laser beams” and he was the star of Mission Impossible. When I turned to leave his room for the last time, I saw the bit of red yarn still tied to the inside door handle.

 It hadn’t been long enough for my daughter’s old room to release her scent. Devoid of furniture, the walls still exhaled her essence. From baby dolls to perfume, to the purple paint she chose for her walls, that room held all the secrets of her young life. I could almost hear her beautiful voice lifted in song—one of my favorite sounds in the world yet today.

The home my husband and I chose for our later years is tailored for two. Smaller, with an attached garage, and no stairs to navigate. My husband being ex-Navy, he loves the flagpole that is visible from our kitchen window, and he appreciates the channel just beyond where boats and barges float past. For me, the plentiful trees hold my gaze. Trees have always entranced me. Ever since my childhood days when I had my very own mulberry tree in which to climb, where tiny blue robin eggs awaited discovery.

The first winter in our new home, an early snow drew us out to our screen porch. Fir trees were frosted in white, and blankets of snow hugged the ground. Fat snowflakes floated as if in slow motion. In that moment, my husband and I hugged. It felt like we were standing in a snow globe that had been gently shaken.

Letting go of our last home was hard, and it did shake up our world a bit. But the beauty and peace surrounding our new home contributes to the making of new memories. And things are falling into place. Here, in our snow globe for two.