This is a picture of the house I grew up in. My parents bought it when I was a year old and they just sold it last summer. Next door to the house is a cemetery, and it was actually the cemetery association who bought it (heh, "cemetery" and "bought it" in the same sentence). Obviously, they're not in need of the house, so they tore it down last fall. Kevin and I drove out to take a look at it when we were in the Cities last month. This is what it looks like now:
It broke my heart a little--I loved that house so much. But I can't tell whether it would be better if they had sold it to a family, to have some strangers living in it, possibly doing awful things like installing track lighting and putting up Grandma-Bending-Over lawn art. Either way, it's a very strange feeling to know that I really, really really can't go home again.
