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A House Is Not A Home 

Today, or, technically, yesterday, I went with my parents to Nana’s house. We had to pack up her angel collection so that the real estate agent will draw up a contract to sell the house. The contract has to be in place within the next week for Nana to qualify for Medicaid. Confused yet?

Nana collects angel figurines, vases, and other trinkets. The real estate agent said the angels would make the house creepy and prevent a sale. Apparently, it made the house look like it belonged to a little old lady, which it did, but the prospective buyers would be turned off. So we had to get them out of sight to appease him & any buyers that might start expecting to hear the theme of the Twilight Zone or The Outer Limits. Aunt Barbara or my mom one is going to check in with him now that they’re being packed up. Hopefully, he will give the thumbs up and get the show on the road. 

I was worried about how I would feel about going in today, but Aunt Barbara & Uncle Danny had taken down all of the pictures and stuff,1 so it didn’t feel like Nana’s house.2 I know that’s part of why they were supposed to take them down. But it just felt like some place I didn’t belong. And I know I’ll need to grieve over that loss later. But I don’t really have time for that at this point. Life has gone all mad hatter. 

We’ll get everything to work out. We have to. 


  1. Also per the real estate agent’s request. 

  2. Even though Granddaddy and she built the house. 

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Janet Morris

I'm from Huntsville, Alabama. I've got as many college credits as a doctorate candidate, and the GPA of some of them, too. I have a boss by the name of Amy Pond. She's a dachshund. My parents both grew up in Alabama.

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