My grandmother hated change. She liked things to stay the way they were. When we moved an hour away she talked about it like we had moved out of the country. When they’d tear down an old building and put up a parking garage she’d complain about how it must have been more cost effective to just tear everything down rather than preserve what was there.
I saw this house on a recent visit to the city. Skyscrapers had built themselves around this little house. I’m not sure why this house survived and all the others around it didn’t but this one is for sale. Her days may be numbered.
Now I know what my grandmother was feeling. Change is unpredictable. Change doesn’t always respect the past. Change is scary.