We're empty nesters now, but we're not downsizing. There are too many memories in this house.
Our friends are downsizing, but emotions play a big part in our not leaving our 3,500 square foot house.
There are memories in every corner of this place.
After 30 years, we're not ready to leave our 1970s home, even though it has stairs and no walk-in shower.
Among my friends my age — I'm 67 — downsizing is a major topic at social gatherings. The focus is always on finances and logistics, not the deep feelings that the decision reveals.
Emotions play a big part in why, for now, we're staying in this too-big, too-out-of-date, difficult-to-manage two-level 3,500-square-foot home despite many reasons to go and fewer to stay.
My husband of 40 years and I have upgraded and replaced many things. Our upper level has oak plank floors, and we ripped the kitchen to the studs, put in a long peninsula, and increased cabinet space. We upgraded all the interior doors, replaced the concrete driveway, and improved the drainage. We've added a new roof and refurbished a concrete patio. We've added tiles to the bathroom floors and repainted multiple times. And except for the ubiquitous ancient refrigerator in the basement, we've upgraded with good appliances as needed.
But we don't necessarily love everything we've done throughout the years. The oak planks throughout the upper level are narrow, having been put in years ago, and the trend is wider planks. The remodeled kitchen, chic in 2011, has dark cabinets that are not in vogue.
At our price point and on our retirement income, it doesn't make sense to replace wooden floors or upgrade a kitchen that costs more than we'll ever get back.
A costly team cares for our lawn. A landscaper cares for the garden beds, and early every Monday, a team of mowers wakes us up. Another person hauls away branches after our frequent Midwestern storms. A man with a lift and a crew takes down the big trees, about 15 in 30 years. A company fertilizes the acre-sized lot and treats it for moles.
One Mother's Day, my husband looked out the kitchen window and said, "You are not the only mother on the property today," spotting Mr. and Mrs. Ground Hog and their four babies. We hired "The Critter Roper," who gently removed them from our property.
We hired the varmint guy to build a structure to protect our foundation, one of those expenses that cost a pretty penny and are not as exciting as a new car or TV. Our foundation has been safe from varmints ever since.
All that said, we are comfortable in our home. While the decorative style might be called Eclectic Grammy, each room has relics of past travel, copies of famous paintings, and originals by artist friends. We are surrounded by books everywhere (my husband is a retired librarian), and I can't bear to part with one book yet.
We each have an office, and my husband, who runs an online antiques business, keeps inventory in our basement and yard barn.
I love my yellow-and-white striped wallpapered office and large L-shaped desk. Diverse items hang on the walls — a huge picture of Eleanore Roosevelt, an "I Love Lucy" Vitameatavegamin clock, posters of Baryshnikov, my mother's 1955 Indiana University diploma, a picture my son drew in first grade of "The Cat in the Hat," and a poster of El Greco's "Toledo," the exact spot where my husband and I stood.
My most precious books are on a rough-hewn bookshelf my Dad built when I moved into my first apartment, arm's length away from my comfortable office chair.
From my office, I see West Lake, the canopy of trees in our yard, and lilac bushes that recently bloomed. Three bird feeders hang off the deck rail, awaiting the imminent arrival of the Rose-breasted grosbeaks on their way back to Canada.
I'm not ready to give these things up. My husband, who couldn't run his business from a smaller space, isn't ready to stop his business.
The house is quiet now, but I still love being here despite its too-small rooms and the lack of a linen closet.
In my mind, I hear the noise of children's pool parties and the clatter of my son's quick, child footsteps on the stairs, although he left for college in 2008 and lives on the East Coast.
My maternal grandfather was a real estate agent and always told me, that owning a home is an emotional investment. That statement sticks with me now as my husband and I contemplate when to downsize.
For now, I'm happy to stay in our home on its lovely tree-filled lot, which offers comfort and familiarity, rich memories, and seasonal beauty.
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Editorial: Chicago mourns with Texas and the parents of the Camp Mystic girls
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Midwestern parents are very familiar with the ritual, which includes the nagging worry of leaving their kid in someone else's hands. Be it Camp Nebagamon or Camp Timber-lee, Lake of the Woods, Camp Agawak or the YMCA's Camp Copneconic and Phantom Lake, many of these camps in Wisconsin and Michigan have been around for decades and traffic in memory and tradition. Parents often send their kids where they went themselves. Where they had the time of their lives. Where they grew up. Many of those parents with kids at a summer camp right now felt a knot in their stomach when the news about those lost young girls broke this weekend, and that knot has yet to resolve itself. It likely won't, until the kids come back home. You learn a lot about yourself in a crisis. The same is true of our country. Who are we in this moment of relatable tragedy? We have a choice. 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Yahoo
5 days ago
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We're empty nesters now, but we're not downsizing. There are too many memories in this house.
We've lived in our house for 30 years and have no plans of moving out any time soon. Our friends are downsizing, but emotions play a big part in our not leaving our 3,500 square foot house. There are memories in every corner of this place. After 30 years, we're not ready to leave our 1970s home, even though it has stairs and no walk-in shower. Among my friends my age — I'm 67 — downsizing is a major topic at social gatherings. The focus is always on finances and logistics, not the deep feelings that the decision reveals. Emotions play a big part in why, for now, we're staying in this too-big, too-out-of-date, difficult-to-manage two-level 3,500-square-foot home despite many reasons to go and fewer to stay. My husband of 40 years and I have upgraded and replaced many things. Our upper level has oak plank floors, and we ripped the kitchen to the studs, put in a long peninsula, and increased cabinet space. We upgraded all the interior doors, replaced the concrete driveway, and improved the drainage. We've added a new roof and refurbished a concrete patio. We've added tiles to the bathroom floors and repainted multiple times. And except for the ubiquitous ancient refrigerator in the basement, we've upgraded with good appliances as needed. But we don't necessarily love everything we've done throughout the years. The oak planks throughout the upper level are narrow, having been put in years ago, and the trend is wider planks. The remodeled kitchen, chic in 2011, has dark cabinets that are not in vogue. At our price point and on our retirement income, it doesn't make sense to replace wooden floors or upgrade a kitchen that costs more than we'll ever get back. A costly team cares for our lawn. A landscaper cares for the garden beds, and early every Monday, a team of mowers wakes us up. Another person hauls away branches after our frequent Midwestern storms. A man with a lift and a crew takes down the big trees, about 15 in 30 years. A company fertilizes the acre-sized lot and treats it for moles. One Mother's Day, my husband looked out the kitchen window and said, "You are not the only mother on the property today," spotting Mr. and Mrs. Ground Hog and their four babies. We hired "The Critter Roper," who gently removed them from our property. We hired the varmint guy to build a structure to protect our foundation, one of those expenses that cost a pretty penny and are not as exciting as a new car or TV. Our foundation has been safe from varmints ever since. All that said, we are comfortable in our home. While the decorative style might be called Eclectic Grammy, each room has relics of past travel, copies of famous paintings, and originals by artist friends. We are surrounded by books everywhere (my husband is a retired librarian), and I can't bear to part with one book yet. We each have an office, and my husband, who runs an online antiques business, keeps inventory in our basement and yard barn. I love my yellow-and-white striped wallpapered office and large L-shaped desk. Diverse items hang on the walls — a huge picture of Eleanore Roosevelt, an "I Love Lucy" Vitameatavegamin clock, posters of Baryshnikov, my mother's 1955 Indiana University diploma, a picture my son drew in first grade of "The Cat in the Hat," and a poster of El Greco's "Toledo," the exact spot where my husband and I stood. My most precious books are on a rough-hewn bookshelf my Dad built when I moved into my first apartment, arm's length away from my comfortable office chair. From my office, I see West Lake, the canopy of trees in our yard, and lilac bushes that recently bloomed. Three bird feeders hang off the deck rail, awaiting the imminent arrival of the Rose-breasted grosbeaks on their way back to Canada. I'm not ready to give these things up. My husband, who couldn't run his business from a smaller space, isn't ready to stop his business. The house is quiet now, but I still love being here despite its too-small rooms and the lack of a linen closet. In my mind, I hear the noise of children's pool parties and the clatter of my son's quick, child footsteps on the stairs, although he left for college in 2008 and lives on the East Coast. My maternal grandfather was a real estate agent and always told me, that owning a home is an emotional investment. That statement sticks with me now as my husband and I contemplate when to downsize. For now, I'm happy to stay in our home on its lovely tree-filled lot, which offers comfort and familiarity, rich memories, and seasonal beauty. Read the original article on Business Insider
Business Insider
5 days ago
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We're empty nesters now, but we're not downsizing. There are too many memories in this house.
We've lived in our house for 30 years and have no plans of moving out any time soon. Our friends are downsizing, but emotions play a big part in our not leaving our 3,500 square foot house. There are memories in every corner of this place. After 30 years, we're not ready to leave our 1970s home, even though it has stairs and no walk-in shower. Among my friends my age — I'm 67 — downsizing is a major topic at social gatherings. The focus is always on finances and logistics, not the deep feelings that the decision reveals. Emotions play a big part in why, for now, we're staying in this too-big, too-out-of-date, difficult-to-manage two-level 3,500-square-foot home despite many reasons to go and fewer to stay. We've put so much work into it My husband of 40 years and I have upgraded and replaced many things. Our upper level has oak plank floors, and we ripped the kitchen to the studs, put in a long peninsula, and increased cabinet space. We upgraded all the interior doors, replaced the concrete driveway, and improved the drainage. We've added a new roof and refurbished a concrete patio. We've added tiles to the bathroom floors and repainted multiple times. And except for the ubiquitous ancient refrigerator in the basement, we've upgraded with good appliances as needed. But we don't necessarily love everything we've done throughout the years. The oak planks throughout the upper level are narrow, having been put in years ago, and the trend is wider planks. The remodeled kitchen, chic in 2011, has dark cabinets that are not in vogue. It's an expensive house At our price point and on our retirement income, it doesn't make sense to replace wooden floors or upgrade a kitchen that costs more than we'll ever get back. A costly team cares for our lawn. A landscaper cares for the garden beds, and early every Monday, a team of mowers wakes us up. Another person hauls away branches after our frequent Midwestern storms. A man with a lift and a crew takes down the big trees, about 15 in 30 years. A company fertilizes the acre-sized lot and treats it for moles. One Mother's Day, my husband looked out the kitchen window and said, "You are not the only mother on the property today," spotting Mr. and Mrs. Ground Hog and their four babies. We hired "The Critter Roper," who gently removed them from our property. We hired the varmint guy to build a structure to protect our foundation, one of those expenses that cost a pretty penny and are not as exciting as a new car or TV. Our foundation has been safe from varmints ever since. But we have reasons to stay All that said, we are comfortable in our home. While the decorative style might be called Eclectic Grammy, each room has relics of past travel, copies of famous paintings, and originals by artist friends. We are surrounded by books everywhere (my husband is a retired librarian), and I can't bear to part with one book yet. We each have an office, and my husband, who runs an online antiques business, keeps inventory in our basement and yard barn. I love my yellow-and-white striped wallpapered office and large L-shaped desk. Diverse items hang on the walls — a huge picture of Eleanore Roosevelt, an "I Love Lucy" Vitameatavegamin clock, posters of Baryshnikov, my mother's 1955 Indiana University diploma, a picture my son drew in first grade of "The Cat in the Hat," and a poster of El Greco's "Toledo," the exact spot where my husband and I stood. My most precious books are on a rough-hewn bookshelf my Dad built when I moved into my first apartment, arm's length away from my comfortable office chair. From my office, I see West Lake, the canopy of trees in our yard, and lilac bushes that recently bloomed. Three bird feeders hang off the deck rail, awaiting the imminent arrival of the Rose-breasted grosbeaks on their way back to Canada. I'm not ready to give these things up. My husband, who couldn't run his business from a smaller space, isn't ready to stop his business. I hear kids in my mind, despite it being empty now The house is quiet now, but I still love being here despite its too-small rooms and the lack of a linen closet. In my mind, I hear the noise of children's pool parties and the clatter of my son's quick, child footsteps on the stairs, although he left for college in 2008 and lives on the East Coast. My maternal grandfather was a real estate agent and always told me, that owning a home is an emotional investment. That statement sticks with me now as my husband and I contemplate when to downsize. For now, I'm happy to stay in our home on its lovely tree-filled lot, which offers comfort and familiarity, rich memories, and seasonal beauty.
