Got a call that they were set to demolish our flooded house today, so knowing that work goes quick, headed over to watch it happen. About 2 minutes into the work, something broke off the giant claw and just like that, they were done for the day. Now the house is sitting partially busted up and exposed and likely to stay that way for a few days while they wait for a part and/or deal with this week’s winter weather. I know, it’s just a house – and an empty shell at that. But it’s painful, seein’ it like that – seems like there’s just no dignity for this poor house. Video above shows the entire 2.5 minutes of work that was done on Monday, 12/8. The audio of a voice saying, “DON’T, no no no,” is me telling a news photographer I didn’t want my picture taken.

This week I am working on a sad and unanticipated task. When my dad was very ill, we started having his mail forwarded to my house. Then after we moved, I of course had everything forwarded to our new address. His mail has mostly been doctor bills and the occasional solicitation from the Danbury Mint, but now I am receiving forwarded Christmas cards addressed to him, from friends out of state who don’t know that he has passed away.

I just do not feel right about letting them go unacknowledged, so I am writing short letters to each of these folks, letting them know he is gone. A few stray thoughts about this:

It will no doubt be sad for each person to open their letter and read of the death of their friend – I hope they can at least see a bright spot in having received the letter itself.

The practice of letter-writing must be all but extinct – I can’t remember the last time I received a hand-written letter that wasn’t a Christmas card.

The hand-written note in one of the cards began with this hopeful query: “Al, when will we see you again?” My morbid humor aside, that one really was especially sad.

Last year on Christmas Day was the last time I saw my dad looking really healthy. He was out of the hospital and out of rehab, and staying at home, and drove himself down to our house for Christmas dinner. It had been a long and difficult month for him since Thanksgiving, and I remember thinking how perfect Christmas Day was.

The demolition of the old house is complete. Photo at left of the hole in the ground was taken Wednesday of last week, and looks east toward the neighbor’s house. Clean-up will continue, of course, but with the bitter cold it may be awhile.

I had a love-hate relationship with trees on this property. The tree standing upright in the center of the photo is one of those horrible wild sumacs – I call them stinky trees because they smell awful when you pull them up, which you can do if you get to them soon enough. This one, obviously, got away from me – its one redeeming feature is the big heart carved in its trunk, with “Steve + Janet” carved inside, that my husband put there while trying out a new wood router some years ago.

The leaning tree next to it is a black walnut – that thing played havoc with my patio every year, dropping little green pods, then walnuts, and finally early leaves, all spring and summer.  “A filthy tree,” I used to say.  The demo crew managed to save these two, but bulldozed the one I loved: a small redbud in the front yard, which we planted about ten years ago. It does look like a few other good trees survived, notably some nice old oaks in the back yard.

One of the things the City may regret is that the demolition crew took up the driveway and all the cement my husband had poured in the side lot to the west of the house. If the silver maple trees there survive, the entire property will be a silver maple forest next year – nearly impossible to mow, because the silver maple roots lie almost on top of the ground and send up  “shoots” every few feet. I used to spend hours every summer clipping these things off all over the yard, and digging chunks of root out of my flower beds. If left alone, the shoots easily grow 8 feet high in a single season – great if re-foresting is a goal, not so great if you are looking for that “wide expanse of open green lawn.”