This is about the house that Dad and Mom built and that I first lived in for 16 years. I have fond memories of this house. Playing in the backyard, swimming in our above ground pool, playing cards with Mom and my sister at our "snack bar"; the long hall that ran from our kitchen to that last bedroom that was once my sister's, then mine when she got married. I remember running down that hall with my mother chasing me with that god awful "army strap" threatening to beat the "daylights" out of me. You could walk from the kitchen to the living room, through the living room to an archway to the kitchen again. Or run...as my sister and I often did chasing each other until my Mom had enough and made us stop.

It's amazing how a house goes through changes. My mom decorated it to her taste. Very 50ish but that was modern in the 1950's. Then when I was 18 we had a kitchen fire. The kitchen was remodeled. The snack bar was removed, and a smaller one installed on the opposite side. New kitchen cabinets were installed...stained antique black, a poppy red floor, refrigerator and stove. The kitchen now had a new look. The living room had a new look too. Now my mother favored the Mediterranean look. New furniture and a burnt orange rug.

When my mother passed on, the house took on another look. It seemed to morn the loss of my mother. My father as he grew older couldn't keep up the house as my mother did. The poppy red floor grew dull. The living room rug grew old and ragged. The refrigerator and stove broke. Slowly things were replaced. New rug and drapes in the living room. New living room furniture. New appliances. The style? Dad's. A little bit of this and a little bit of that.

When Dad passed on, I moved in with my new husband. That poppy red floor? We got it to shine once again. We couldn't update the house and boy did it need updating. The house needed new windows, new furnace, new hot water tank. It cried to be remodeled, but we couldn't afford to do anything. We were living from pay check to pay check. We never could make it "ours". It was always my parent's house. And I had the ghost of my father to prove it. So after much debating we decided to sell.

The new owner had the money to put into the house and I heard she gave it a new look. Would the house like it?

I heard the other day the house was up for sale. I ran to my computer to see if there were pictures on the realtor site. I was dieing to see what she did to my parent's house. I was not to be disappointed....

She favored black and white. The kitchen was redone. The poppy red floor now white. The antique black cabinets, now white. The countertops now black. The appliances? Stainless steel. The rugs were torn up to find beautiful hardwood floors, polished so they gleamed. (If I would have only known).

She took our pink 50's bathroom and tore out the sink and vanity and replaced it with a pedestal stink. Pink is now gone. Everything is white, with blue accents.

So many changes that it was hard to believe it was the same house. It was beautiful, but not my taste. She went totally modern. A New York City look. And the house looked happy.

But what happened to my dad's ghost? This definitely was not his style. I can't imagine him still wondering around in that house. It's not the same. I hope he was able to "move on" to a better place.

I am sure once the house sells, it will again be changed and take on a new look. I am lucky to have pictures of the house when I moved in and pictures of what it looks like now, but wouldn't it be fun if I could have left a photo album of day one, when the house was built and all the little changes over the years, leaving this album with each new owner to add their pictures. And wouldn't it be fun to be able to go back many, many years later to see all these changes?