A home where time stood still

 That’s the first thought I had when the son of the deceased owners showed me the home which I would list and sell for him. 1973 is what I saw all around me. Lovingly cared for parlor lamps, patchwork quilts, watercolors and sets of china. When many homeowners are scurrying to Home Depot to get the latest home improvements, this home remained a piece of history, untouched, fine the way it was, well lived in, a relic, a home. The son, now middle aged, showed me his old room. His boyhood books sat sentry in the recessed headboard. A maple student desk still held an ample supply of lined notebook paper. The only new addition to the room was his golf shoes and polo shirts. He still slept in his old room when he returned for visits. He took me out to see his father’s workshop not used since 1979. Tools of all kinds sat unused along with tackle boxes and old blue Coleman ice chests. An old air compressor with its 1950’s science fiction movie rocket fuselage sat patiently waiting for it’s next launch. Wood shavings from the last honey-do project dusted the miter saw, wood chisels lay where they were last cast aside. Only a few hand tools, a hammer and screwdrivers, littered an area used by the son for occasional maintenance of the home he visited rarely but was reluctant to part with. The son handed me the keys. Everything was to be sold as it stood. He would take nothing, not even his old set of golf clubs. He would leave it the way he remembered it, the way we want to remember the people we loved, standing, smiling, looking ahead.