Fairlawn Way

I always thought that my grandparents had the coolest house. I mean, for starters, it had a pool. As a young kid growing up by no natural water sources (okay, there was the beach, but like I've said, I don't really like the beach), having a pool was a pretty sweet deal. It also was this house that seemed to be stuck in time. The moment you drove up that hill to their driveway and entered that house, it was like you were stepping back into the hey day of the sixties, big hair and all. No matter what age I was, five or fifteen, it always stayed the same. I knew that my grandma would have limeade in the refrigerator and she'd probably serve it to you in those bumpy blue glass cups. If you wanted a snack they would be in that tricky drawer that had the sliding cover on top. I knew that I could always go to my grandma's dressing area, play with her vanity, and look at all her awesome clothes, shoes and accessories. One of my favorite spots was the little nook in the back hallway that not only had a phone in it, but a big chalk board on the wall to write your messages. I remember loving to explore each room, for each held so much character within its walls. (And let's be honest, my grandparents were a bunch of pack rats, so they held a lot of stuff too). My grandpa had the house built with every nook and cranny used for a specific purpose. Even built into one of the walls was a hidden cabinet. If you pushed on the wall in just the right way, it would open, exposing shelves full of glassware and dishes (and to my childhood delight, candy). We called each bathroom by it's color ("the green bathroom", "the blue bathroom...") I think I could go on and on about this house, because there was so much to explore, so many places to go.

Well, I knew this day would come eventually. I mean, it had to. My grandparents passed away a while ago, and I knew that it would make sense for my dad and uncle to sell and put it up on the market. It's just sad once that day finally comes, you know? I know that I live far away so I can't even go see it, but it makes me sad knowing that it is the end of an era. Though it doesn't make sense, I had the thought that it would be with our family forever. I know I still have the memories- spending the night with them and waking up with Grandpa's scrambled eggs,  the kid parties, the high school times of hanging, my joint graduation party with my cousin Stacy, and so on...- but still. It's sad to see it go. Sad that eventually, Fairlawn will belong to some other family, not ours. I know the house is just a representation of every memory had and the physical things in life don't last...but, oh I don't know. I know I'm just rambling now.

This is the view when you first walk in the front door. That couch has always been there. Do you see how perfectly it fits the design? That's my grandpa.

The other view of the living room.

The fire pit. I mean, seriously, who has one of these? The couch was always a little scratchy though...

The kitchen. And do you see the little bronze box in the bottom centerish of the picture? That's part of the intercom system of the house. Again, who has that?

The sun room. And the pool table. Oh, the pool table.

The pool! And in the distance, the Rose Bowl.

This was my Grandpa's office. He had shelves that stored possibly every National Geographic ever printed.

Master Bedroom

The roof and front door. There is a spiral staircase that you can climb up and walk on the roof. Though I'm seriously scared of heights, I'd do it. Also, my brother and his friends would jump of the roof into the pool. Nice.

I'm never good at changes. I like my routine, and I like knowing things will be the same, even if I am not around to notice it. I'm sad that there is a chance the next time I go back to California, this will be different. I'm sad that my kids will never get to experience it like I did. Like I said before though, I know it is just a house. So why is it affecting me so? 

On the flip side, I know that my parents, aunt, uncle and cousins put in a lot of work getting it ready to sell, so I am thankful for all their hard work. Thanks you guys! 

Thanks for letting me share. I'm sure that none of this makes sense, but it feels good to write some of this down. When my dad first sent me the email with the property listing, I just started bawling. Part out of sadness, part out of, well, lets just say I was being a little too emotional for my own good.

(Note: The house hasn't sold yet, it just got listed. But the sentiments are all the same.)