Fifteen Pounds of Dead Mice

If walls could talk, you might decide to live in a yurt or a teepee.

I was fresh as a daisy when I came to be. Not a common phrase these days, but I was strong, stable and over the course of it all, I helped shelter 137 people. Almost one person for every year I'd been here.

I took an enormous amount of pride in the service my colleagues and I provided, and we used to have such lively conversations. Now, a bunch of the pieces who we call the 'replacements' were made overseas and we can't understand them at all.

One day for no good reason, the cast iron radiators were unceremoniously ripped out and replaced with radiant baseboard. What a dark day. They were so funny, so full of steam, unabashedly real and I still miss them every day. It was murder I tell you. Plain and simple.

The replacements don't seem to understand, respect or take pride in the awesome responsibilities they'd been given. They have no sense of the fact that they're an integral part of the whole and that's how it should be.

Originally, we were a wedding gift.

John, his father and brothers put their heart and soul into this place. The care they took in their craftsmanship is the only reason why we're still here, but I'm afraid we won't be here much longer.

When John carried Maggie across the threshold, and the sunlight shown through the leaded stained glass, we were every bit as ecstatic as they were. The honey stained, quarter sawn oak floor, the ornate brass hardware on the door, the green glass gas lamps which are no more.. all sang a joyful harmony. It was a day I'll remember 'til the end.

Yes I have stories to tell, but I won't bore you.

The joists don't giggle anymore. The squeaks they made when the kids were running around upstairs made all of us laugh. Many bricks are fractured and I can't describe the sorrow their partners bear, supporting the weight of the dead. The foundation was our father in a way and he hasn't spoken with us in years. He's got cracks in a few places, settled in the rear right corner a good four inches and just can't handle the hydraulics. He was so reassuring, a constant unwavering voice that we miss dearly.

I've put on so much weight. I guess it happens to all of us.

There are so many layers of roofing. The most recent layer shared her discomfort of being moored to layers of the suffocated dead. I have a constant pressure ache with so much facing. My crumbling horse hair lath and plaster is affixed with too many layers of drywall and sheetrock, never mind all the layers of paint and wallpaper.

Somewhere, in the midst of time we became something else. We went from being a home, to being an investment. They say that home is where the heart is, but all we are now is a commodity and I heard the banker say that the eroded soil of the plot below is far more valuable than we are.

The things we've endured together. The tornado of 1898, the great earthquake of '27.. which leveled half the neighborhood, the prairie wildfire of '63, the countless blizzards and storms. We kept generations of Ganley's, their friends and family safe and warm.

Well, that was until the knob and tube wiring caught fire and killed my north east sister wall. Hearing her crackle in pain was so wrenching. I didn't think my wood had any sap left, but I wept for days.

No one left to fix the holes.

The places where the mischievous squirrels, the blustery wind and rain get in. I used to enjoy the tickle of mice inside. They had a lot to talk about until they found the bracing gap. One of the very few mistakes John made. Once the mice fell through, they couldn't get out.

I can't stand to think that I grew accustom to their cries. Other mice died trying to save them. Now the space between those studs is filled with their decayed remains.

Johns great, great grandson lives in California now. I hope he and his family like it there. Tomorrow we face the wrecking ball. I hope people will share memories made here. Memories of us, this place and all we stood for.