I have been absent here of late. We have been moving. Or I guess we have moved and now we’re settling, though I swear the boxes have multiplied and I wonder each day how we have possibly accumulated so much stuff. I vowed at one point to never again purchase anything decorative. The walls are begging for mercy. We have been unpacking and painting (I sit here now in paint streaked clothes that have seen and smelled better days). You lose yourself for a bit in the chaos of a move. I sincerely apologize to all Walmart and Home Depot patrons who have witnessed the Marcy of the Move: disheveled and paint speckled. Sans makeup and what is the bristly thing? Oh yes, a brush. I fear it is a not so stellar impression I have made on this my new home town. Ah well. There is grace, yes?
As such in this new chapter I have spent oh so much time thinking of houses and homes. There was a point in this process where we thought we had lost our house. Some silly rule with the bank about when you start a new job and when you sign. As I work in academia my job doesn’t officially start until well after we signed and that seemed to have posed a problem for a bit. I received the news on my way home and arrived at the doorstep of our rainforest home tear streaked and the worse for wear. That night at dinner Lil’ Girl looked at me and said “Thank you mommy for buying us a new home in Montana.” It was agreed then and there over knowing looks across the wide oak table that if this fell through, the bank would break the news, not the hubby and I. They could look into those big brown eyes and say no. But we were blessed and by the skin of our teeth signed papers last week. All this has occurred in the midst of evicting a renter from the house that just wont sell and finding out that she has trashed it. My heart broke at the news and the pictures. That house, our first purchased home where so many dreams were made and our first three children made their entrance into our family. And it has been broken. A house means so much. The four walls and kitchen where the heart of the family meets and grows and feeds eachother both physically and emotionally. There is so much heart and truth to the Miranda Lambert song “The House that Built Me.” We move from our childhood in the dance of growth and maturity but what it al comes down to is that place where we are called home. Those open doors to the memories of our childhood which shape the way we view the world and form our future. Bright homes oe dark histories in those crucial years that determine so much.
I’m praying those home, this house with my view of the moutains, creates memories that block out the painful times of my children’s pasts. That the new lufe here with the new last name lays the groundwork for a beautiful future. And that when they grow amd move away they look back on this home as the place where they were loved.
Please excuse the errors. I still do not have internet and typing on this tiny phone screen and I don’t get along well.