Today’s Blogger, May I prompt is Where Do You Call Home. Man that is a loaded question.
Since I was about 10 or 11, I lived in two different places. Half of my life was spent at my mom’s house, the other half was spent at my dad’s house. I still have clothes and shoes spread out between the different locations, even though I’m living in my own house (which is actually my mom’s house that I’m renting from her while she is living in Virginia).
I’ve given a lot of thought to the idea of “home” recently. If you go back to posts in March, you’d see that I spent a lot of time whining that I had to pack up my father’s house while he was in the hospital. It’s one thing to move away from your first home, but it’s another entirely to pack it up and sell it. Two different mindsets, I guess. You can always go back if you move away. When you sell it…well, you can’t go back to those memories.
It’s ironic that I’m writing this because I just found out that my father is putting his house on the market. It’s happening for sure whereas back in March it was a suggestion from his sisters. It’s definitely bittersweet. He and I acknowledged that I can’t live there and take care of him forever and that I’ve worked hard to afford what I can and get where I am.
And it’s sad to think that last year, we unwittingly had our last Christmas there. And Easter. And birthdays.
But now, home is where my kitchen is. Like I wrote a few weeks ago, my mom’s kitchen is one of my favorite places. I love to cook and bake. I definitely got that from both of my grandmas, but my mom had a biiiig role in that, too.
She taught me a great deal in her kitchen. I tried to make her kitchen my own, but some things still remain, the her Pfaltzgraff rejects (she got new ones so I got the hand-me-downs. Not complaining!) Nice little touches of home.
So while home is in transition right now, I’ll still have things that remind me of my dad’s house, like the bookcases he built that were in the living room the whole time I was growing up (I already said I’m taking those, no exceptions) and the beautiful Barry Jeter pieces he bought for me.
Where is home for you?