I pass that little white house alot on my way home from work. It may look like any other house on that Street to those who don't know the secret that lies within. The lawn is neatly manicured, the hedges perfectly trimmed. Several beautiful fat cats lay on the porch sunning themselves. And in the driveway is a slightly older model car that always looks freshly washed and waxed. But no one has lived in that house for nine years now, except the cats! Every day, an older distinguished looking man in a pickup truck, stops by and feeds the cats and takes care of whatever needs doing. Then he locks the door behind him and drives off into the sunset. To a casual observer, it would appear that the owner is on an extended vacation and the distinguished gentleman is watching the house while it's tenant is away. But if you had a key and unlocked the door and walked inside, you'd think you had stepped back in time. The calenders on the wall all say "November 2007". The old newspapers laying here and there bear the same date. In the kitchen sink are used cups and saucers that have been waiting nine years to be washed, dried, and neatly put away. But they never will be...not as long as the distinguished gentleman is still alive. You see, the house belonged to this man's mother, a sweet little German lady named Freda, who adored her cats. And her son adored her. The house is now a shrine, and her son wants everything left exactly the way it was when his mother passed away. So seasons come, and seasons go, but it's still 2007 in Freda's house. Freda also had a daughter, who I happen to know. She told me once that she wishes her brother would sell the house and move on with his life. "He's getting up in years himself", she said. I didn't say anything in reply. I remained mute on the subject. Why? Because I know of another house, quite similiar, actually, in some ways. Oh, the calenders on the wall are current, but...some things have stayed exactly the same. I' m referring to the last house that my Mom lived in when she died. Mom used to get up every morning and sit by the large picture window and put on her makeup. All of her makeup is still sitting on the windowsill right where she left it, six years ago. Her clothes still hang in the closet. On a shelf in the kitchen is a vase bearing a dried and faded longstemmed pink rose. It was the last flower I ever gave her while she was alive. When I gave it to her I never dreamed that the next flower I would give her would be the ones I laid on her casket--three long stemmed red roses. One from me, one from my son, and one from my step dad. My stepfather still lives in the house. He briefly moved out shortly after Mom died. He hastily remarried, thinking that would ease the pain, but it didn't. The marriage was short-lived, and he moved back home. Neither one of us can bear to pack up mom's things, so they remain. I guess, in a way, Mom's house is 'lost in time'. And I know that as long as I am alive there will always be a vase in the kitchen with a faded, long stemmed pink rose in it...