The kids quickly called it the ghost room
What was once the lounge room
The family meeting place
Where we sat around the fire on winter nights
Listening to each others stories
Celebrating the joy of Christmas
Birthdays and gatherings of family.
A room that bustled with life taken from us
Replaced with an open space where we all fitted
Admittedly in more comfort
But with out the heart of the old room.
Now it sadly sits in front of the house
Neglected except for the occasional dust
The sometimes visit of mislaid friends
Who admire your handiwork.
The effort you made to provide us with a ‘good ‘ room
Made inaccessible.
Kids were banned from the space
God forbid they sat on the new lounge
That their dirty feet soiled the carpet
A white pile, which I could never understand.
Children are grubby, its how they are
They bring dirt in with them
They soil where they walk.
So the room has been consigned history
Along with its energy and its life.
Today we gathered around my table
Remember when one said….
Written for: https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2015/08/23/writing-prompt-115-noend-house-part-3%E2%80%B3/
Morpethroad 
Wow, you do these so movingly, Michael. I almost felt I was there, could feel the lost bustle, replaced with memories.
Thank you Val glad you found that so….
Most welcome.
How sad. In the effort to have a “good” room, it ended up cold and austere. I remember the lounge room at my Aunty and Nana’s flat in Randwick. Huge old well-worn lounge and armchairs. You could always find newspapers, magazines and the occasional penny or sixpence under the cushions. Oh how I loved going there. The block of flats is still there. How I would love to visit it once more, though I guess the inside would be completely different now. LOL I even remember my Aunt’s phone number — FX3830. How things have changed.
Goodness you are going back a while Lyn. Things do change don’t they, what started out as a ‘good’ idea turned a bit sour really, especially when the kids referred to it as the ghost room, all that remained were the ghosts of their pasts….
I agree with Valida you brought me to the room, to the house, made me a part of your poem. I really like “mislaid friends” and I agree with you about kids, I think my daughter is made of sand
Lol…I like That I am sure she is impressed to know that. I recently stayed with my son and they have a sand box with a magnetic sand in it, you shape it and it stays in the shape even when you drop it on the ground.
That is so cool I would really love to see that!
My gson loved throwing it around so I could clean it up…lol
I know he did what greater pleasure is there for a child Michael? My daughter used to fill her pockets with sand and bring it back with her. Funny thing when she was very small she thought it was too dirty to play on the ground and I convinced her it was one of the joys of childhood what was I thinking lol
My aunt had a room like that. She kept plastic on the couch and chairs in the “formal” room. Her hands were always red and chapped from bleach-a compulsive cleaner. I always felt sorry for my cousins. Your poem paints a sad picture.
Yes indeed Debi, though my wife at the time was no cleaner.
I had a relative who had a ‘dead’ living-room. Such a waist. I remember the couch and chairs also had plastic covers – Oh I see others had similar relatives too. Those rooms/ that room was for company… but when we, as children visited, we were family, not company. So we never saw the room used.
The choices some folks make. I vowed that all of my rooms in any home I owned would be ‘living-rooms’.
Thank you for visiting the fourth room. ~Jules
Thanks Jules, it seemed such a waste to me too……especially when it was just for show, as if we were anything special.
My home will never appear in ‘House Beautiful’ – I would rather think the people in it are beautiful. 🙂
I’m with you.
You captured the essence of loss and hunger – in the sense that people need to be fed and nourished – cherished for who and how they are – that it isn’t about the space and furnishings, but the interactions and love shared within the walls. Superbly sensitive writing Michael.
And for what it’s worth – we had a “living room” – where any living rarely took place – and a play room – for us to lounge about it – but generally, I can say, quoting one of my counselors from years ago “I grew up in a house will ‘no people prints.’ “