Wednesday, August 10, 2011
i am here.
i'm home for a little while.
not my home, not that little home in the city, but home.
home where i came from.
it's so nice to be here.
it's so nice to sit on the deck and rock in the shade of the pine trees while my mom waters her plants. it's nice to hear music streaming from the kitchen all day long. it's nice to sleep under the same arched windows i looked out as a child. they provided the perfect view of santa's sleigh in the sky or a boy waiting for me in the driveway. one of them shined a flashlight in through those windows many years ago and lit up the darkness with a beam that danced and shimmied across my ceiling.
my mom has sanded and painted and stained her heart out all over this place. and that is why i love it. when she painted the living room all those years ago, a dark crimson where white had once been, she first wrote "i love jess" in giant red letters that stretched floor to ceiling. as a child, i giggled and marveled over the rebelliousness of it all. sometimes, if i stand at just the right angle, under just the right lighting, i swear i can still see the words she wrote.
our names are carved in the dining room table. it started out with scribbles; childhood drawings and math problems that etched their way into the soft wood and left marks. eventually, my mother saw the beauty in it and gave us a sharpened pencil and instructions to leave our signature. now, greg's is there too. and someday evie's will be also.
this place shaped me. i was lectured at the kitchen table, pitched to in the backyard and kissed in the basement. the lamps are always turned on, music is always playing and an endless bowl of microwave popcorn always sits on the coffee table. there are a million memories living and breathing and filling up this space.
it is home, and always will be.