Picking up pine cones

This afternoon the five of us took advantage of the beautiful weather and went down the street to my parent's house to tidy up a bit. We picked up sticks, pine cones and trash that appeared from under the melted snow. A landscaping crew we were not, but our quick clean up did make a difference. My parents are putting their house on the market in a week or so and in this market, anything that will get buyers through the doors is a good thing. When I think back to our home shopping days, Jason and I drove by more houses than the ones we actually went inside. Outward appearances say a lot.

As I dragged a barrel behind me tossing in pine cones I couldn't help but think about the many times I stood in that space. My family moved to this house when I was nine, and thirty years later I now live a few houses away. Understandably, this whole process of my parents moving is bittersweet and emotional for me too. That house is my other home.

Intellectually I understand and am happy that my parents will be blessed with a beautiful new home that will make life easy for them. Emotionally it's a chapter closing with my childhood home changing hands. Another reminder that life is short and keeps on rolling so you better stop and take a look around. Moving through the backyard I had this mini movie go through my head of moments I hope to always remember.

There was the fabulous retirement party and 60th birthday party my mom threw for my dad in 2000 with a dance floor under a tent, music and caterers scurrying around. I was seven months pregnant at the time and remember crying like a baby half the night overwhelmed by my emotions.

There was the 25th anniversary party my siblings and I organized for my parents in 1988 where we surprised them by flying my sister home early from her semester abroad in England. She hid in a box in the back of a truck and we drove her right into the backyard as my parent's present.

Even earlier, I remember summer nights camping out in the backyard with my sisters and friends, being silly, eating junk, and staying up late, daring each other to run around the house in the middle of the night in our undies.

My grandparents sitting on chairs in the shade on Sunday afternoons simply watching my dad work in the garden.

My own kids playing wiffle ball and running laps around the house.

The spectacular lilac bush that bursts open every Mother's day as a gift to us all, reminding us of my uncle who nurtured it in his own yard before his passing.

Good times. All of them. So much joy in one place. And this is just me picking up pine cones. I haven't even started on the inside. This is going to be more difficult than I thought, but the memories so wonderful to experience again. What good is a memory if you don't get a chance to dig it out again?