Home

I think the weather messes with my head sometimes. If it is rainy or cold. I just want to be sad, to withdraw to myself. I wish this part of me didn't surface at times, but it does. So, on this cold, rainy day, I am going to polish off this last bit of my melancholy mood and let it go.

Last week, my mom called me with some interesting news. My childhood home, her childhood home, too, had been demolished to the ground and the rest standing was set on fire. It was done on purpose, and I knew it eventually was going to happen. The house has been uninhabitable for a number of years, but the thought of going home and not seeing it there just saddens me.

It was a little farmhouse that my grandparents added on to. To most people, it would not mean much. It wasn't big, nor was it fancy. But for me, it was home. My mom and I moved around so much, and yet, I lived there repeatedly during my childhood, and then in my early twenties, I lived in it's backyard, I could ALWAYS see it.

On the patio, my Papa had a huge freezer, and a washer/dryer. And JUNK. I remember being little and looking at the dead frozen ducks in the freezer....really, what were they doing there? My cousin Davy threw a kittycat in the dryer one time, and we rescued him quickly. The back door was brown, with a window in it. You walked in and there was a kitchen/den combo.
In that den, I had my very own Christmas tree. I made the star with yellow poster board and dressed up like the Virgin Mary and wrapped my bean bag baby Jennifer up in swaddling towels as the baby Jesus. I have a picture of this.
The kitchen had beautiful wooden cabinets in it, and one night I saw the biggest mouse...RAT in my life on the counter.

There was a long hallway that led to bedrooms and the front of the house. My papa used to stand at one end, and growl at me...."GRRRR...I'm the boogaman...." I would squeal with delight.

The front left bedroom was MINE. My mama painted it a baby blue and moved my canopy bed in it, and I woke up in that pretty little room and I felt like a Paxville Princess. I prayed for Mr. Franklin, the man who laid the dark blue carpet down, for 3 years...God Bless Mr. Franklin.

There was a door with a window that led to the "formal" living room, and every Christmas they taped the face of Santa Claus inside it....He was always watching me. I would stand in front of the wall heater across from that door to warm up after bathtime...I burnt my baby doll's hair there drying her off too.

Every Christmas, there was a huge tree in the living room, and a stocking for every child, and grandchild, on the mantle. That was a lot, because my mom was one of six...so let's count. Nanny, Papa, Uncle David, Aunt Cherry, Uncle Dan, Momma, Aunt Betsy, Uncle Matt, Uncle Steve, Aunt Terri, Aunt Carolyn, Uncle Johnny, Cousin Jenny, Me, Cousin Stacie, Cousin Davy...there more added later...

Upstairs there was an a-frame bedroom that my cousin Stacie and I shared in middle school. One night, we attempted to sneak out, of course, I was too much of a chicken to climb down the ladder. However, I did manage to fall down the staircase without a broken bone.

Wow, the memories. I could go through the yard too, and recall every bump, bruise, puppy and kitty...I am so full of emotions right now. My heart is so happy to hold memories like this, and sad too, it was where I really called home, and it won't be there next time. But I am so lucky to have had something like this in my life, not everyone does.

On my nannies tombstone is the quote, "Let me live in a house by the side of the road, and be a friend to man" A plaque with this inscription hung on the kitchen wall, and my momma now has it. I remember this house always full of good food and laughter, family and friends. Yes, this was and always will be...Home.