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[resonant]

Lynn, my dental hygienist, just came home from visiting her parents -- the last visit she and her sisters get to make before their parents sell the house.

"I'd go downstairs because I wanted to look down the laundry chute one last time," she said, "and I'd find my sister there, and she'd say kind of shamefacedly, 'I wanted to look down the laundry chute one last time; isn't that silly?' One day we all went upstairs, one by one, because we all wanted one last chance to smell the broom closet."

The house I lived in from ages six to twelve was torn down several years ago; Hurricane Fran spun off several tornadoes that far inland, and a tree fell on the roof. And I don't really miss the house -- I don't even remember it all that well -- but every now and then I'll be assailed suddenly by a sense memory of the bitter smell of the ivy when we cut it so it wouldn't grow over the sidewalk.

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[darthfox.livejournal.com]

My parents have lived in their house since 1973. In the event they ever move -- which they'll only do if, like, one of them can absolutely not handle stairs anymore -- I will also be that sort of messed up.

[resonant8.livejournal.com]

Stairs were the big reason my parents eventually sold the house I lived in as a teenager, and the reason the spouse's parents just moved. I hope your parents have a good long time to stay in their house.