On Being Spatially Disoriented

I have been thinking lately about how odd it is when you occupy a space for a considerable amount of time, call it home, and then sell that home (or someone else does) only to later walk through that space whilst other people inhabit it. I had this feeling once before when I drove past my childhood home on 6th to find that the people who purchased my parents' house had pretty well trashed the place. I had this disorienting experience again yesterday when we (P, her mom, dad and I) got a tour through the only house P lived in growing up (I also lived there for two summers). For those who don't know, P's parents are now in the process of building a beautifully spatious house, just a little ways down the road from their old one.

Anyway, to say that things have changed would be, to use a rhetorical term, litotes. This dentist, whom I have only seen in a tank top, has knocked down buildings, built additions, re-floored the entire house, added new countertops, expanded bedrooms, rearranged walking spaces, and put up logs (logs, logs, everyplace). This guy has messed with the place so much that it is nearly unrecognizable, and how weird to experience that? I think, though, that the most weirdest thing was that all of these changes could have been more effectively made by knocking the dang house down and starting all over. Then, at least, I wouldn't have to deal with the awkwardness of seeing this pseudo-relic of my past.

For those who have been there, check this out: