This holiday season, I am nostalgic for years past. Years spent around the baby grand piano in my grandma's living room where we'd spend hours singing old Christmas carols from a worn out piano book. Christmas Eves spent eating pizza and playing holiday grab games. Thanksgivings spent remembering the many things for which we were grateful. Halloweens spent eating treats and playing "pin the nose on the Jack-o-lantern". I am nostalgic for my grandmother's house, which I can no longer see anymore.

My grandmother was the mother of eight children and lived in Millville, Massachusetts. When her husband died in 1995, two of her children moved into the large house to help her out. Visiting her used to be one of my favorite weekend events when I was growing up. Her house was a landmark in the small town, a mansion in a run-down area. Millville used to be a hub for, as one might guess, textile mills. My grandmother’s house was a remnant of this time as it was the mill owner's house, the mansion of Millville. To my childish eyes, it was as big as a castle, a place of wonder, and mystery. The marble columns out front made the perfect place for me and my sisters to hide and sneak when we were playing spies. The old stable and the detached garage were where we used to explore, pretending to be Christopher Columbus or John Smith from Pocahontas. We would run around on the sprawling acre of land, ducking around all of the trees and our homemade tire swings, rolling down the hill, peeking over the fence to the train tracks, and racing each other back to the steps. The kitchen table was where I spent afternoons making crafts. The parlor is where I would sit at the typewriter and spend hours creating stories and fantasy worlds.

My grandmother has since passed and her house was sold. It's been under construction, gutted and stripped of everything that made it home. The furniture and books and pictures were sold or distributed amongst the family members. The old linoleum floors were ripped out and replaced with tile and hardwood. The stable and detached garage were deemed unsafe and demolished. The trees where we hung our tire swings were cut down. Everything is different and everything is changed.

This holiday season I am nostalgic for things past. I am reminiscent of things I can no longer have, but I am grateful for the memories.