Can you be homesick for a home you've never lived in? Or even seen in person?
Earlier today I opened up a link in an email, saw the article, and immediately got a little choked-up. The article, in The Spokesman-Review, is on my great-grandparents' Spokane home.
It's nice to see photos, and read about how the homeowners -- the fifth owners to live in it since my great-grandmother's death -- have not made drastic changes to the "unique" house.
It's great to know that there are people living in it who appreciate it.
But my immediate reaction was to yearn for that house, the "comfortable family home," the house that my father calls "whimsical and personal." And I wish it hadn't been sold.
This old-fashioned house is on a short list of places thought of, in a way, as "home" -- they include a rambling house in Carmel, and a piece of property in a small village in England (where, I learned upon visiting, our ancestral manor had burned down many years ago).
Interesting the way the heart works, isn't it?
(The article, At Home in the Historic Webster House, is here.)