Goodbye Home Sweet Homes

May 23, 2012

 

by Kip Konner

Since 1996 and my first SquirrelMail email account, I’ve had many homes on the interwebs. My favorite by far has been Glitch. In Ur, I am now settling into (and furiously decorating!) my fourth home. It got me thinking about all the places I’ve lived in Ur, the reasons for my moves, and I got a bit nostalgic. As we all enjoy our new houses, homes we get to imaginate ourselves, let us not forget the homes we leave behind.

When I started playing Glitch, I was thrilled that I could own a home in Ur. It gave me someplace to dump my bags, a place to start accumulating more resources than I could carry. It also gave me a centrally located place to retire to when the hustle and bustle of the streets of Ur got to be too much. My first home was a tiny, uninteresting apartment in Gregarious Grange Towers.

If you haven’t been to Gregarious Grange since the new housing became official, I recommend stopping by the Towers and taking a peek. The team at TS have done an impressive job of turning the building into an overnight derelict: windows are boarded up or broken, posters cover the hoardings, and the walls have developed obvious cracks. Inside, the building shows the wear and tear of decades with dust, cobwebs, and randomly stacked barrels and crates. Light slants through chinks in the boarded windows and the Towers’ once grand 20 floors have been reduced to a meager three. It feels a little spooky but, mostly, it just feels vacant: unused and unloved.

 

 

My next home was in Estevan Meadows, a Mario-themed cottage. Having lusted after that style of cottage for weeks, I quickly became fondly attached to it, never really missing my little Gregarious Grange apartment. I spent many a day flitting around Groddle Meadow collecting resources, never more than a few streets away from home: the house was handy for Groddle Isle, Ix, Uralia and Shimla Mirch. It was a happy time and a happy home.

As my game-play changed, however, my housing needs changed: I wanted a firefly swarm of my very own and I wanted to farm herbs. I didn’t think the swamp houses were as cute as my little Mario cottage but I knew that a move there would soon be necessary. When new housing opened up in Shimla Mirch, a good friend of mine snagged a terrific house and I decided to follow her to Palsa Mosch. I was able to get a great place one street away from my friend and I suddenly had my herb garden and fireflies. But, because of the “land grab” going on in the swamps at that time, I made the move in such a rush that I felt like I didn’t really get to say goodbye to my much-loved, adorable Estevan Meadows home. I could only go back and introduce myself to the new owner. That helped a bit: knowing the next person living there made it a little easier to leave my dearly beloved home for another that I didn’t really love (yet).

I did eventually settle into Palsa Mosch and grew to love that home. I knew my neighbors, I could practice the new skills I had developed, I put some effort into decorating, and the location was still handy to everything else I wanted to do. I was happy there for months.

When the new housing started being tested, I was ecstatic at the idea that I could have my cute-factor back but still work with herbs and admire fireflies. My test house had all that and more, of course. Over the weeks of testing, I gradually moved everything over to the new house and got it set up to my taste. As we drew closer to the official housing release, I realized it would be best to say goodbye to the Palsa Mosch house while I still had time.

I released the livestock I couldn’t carry with me, packed the last few Shinies up, left the herb plot unplanted, collected my vast swarm of fireflies, and took pictures inside and out. Finally, I got it right. I took the time to finish out of that house emotionally before I left it behind for something bigger and better.

After a few days in the new new house, it occurred to me to go check out the old place. As you probably know, the access points to residential blocks have simply vanished. Palsa Mosch itself actually seems a little shorter, as if the residential block access was simply chopped off the end of the street.  But: I realized that I still had a TP link for my block in Palsa Mosch. Curious to see what had become of all the abandoned homes, I tried it and saw this:

 

 

All the houses are for sale but the local livestock are still around. I tried my door but got a notice saying that this location is unavailable. I took a stroll around a few other blocks and found these little tributes someone had left on each doorstep on their block:

 

 

I thought it was appropriate to honor our fallen homes in this way. Many of us have been extremely fond of these homes: we might have kept our old homes and our new homes, just for sentimental value.

With that thought, I decided to perform a similar ritual to finally say goodbye and close the book on that address. I wrote a brief note to my old home and dropped a little RK love on the front step.

 

 

If you don’t have access to your old home street through TP, stop by the nearest street and “pour one out for homey.” If you can get to your residential block, I suggest stopping by one last time before they really disappear completely. Acknowledge the love you felt for that home, give credit where credit is due, and say goodbye as you create and enjoy your wonderful new home.

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