Thursday, March 02, 2006

Home

I’ve called many places home, the most recent a loft apartment shared with three roommates (always with three roommates, the people may change, but the number never will). I’ve lived in many houses, spent semesters abroad at different schools, soaked up sun in shares and called each one home.

At the end of the workday, I told a girl in the office that I was going home for the night. My mother called soon after, asking when it was that I was coming home for a visit to them.
The 200 year old house my parents reside in now is not the place (or places) I grew up. That was in a handful of houses, ever increasing in size, littered throughout the state of Connecticut. Memories of them run and rush together; though there are salient memories of each, I sometimes I can't recall which one I’m thinking of.

The things I miss from my real homes, my complete homes where my roommates are related to me by blood, struck me today on the ride to my adult home, where I would need at least an hour to tidy up and make the beds with hospital corners under the duvet just to diffuse my mother’s horror after arriving.

Tonight, the things I miss from home are:

Stoking the fire with the rooster-shaped poker, then at my father’s insistence, closing the flue before I go sleep

Quilt upon quilt on the bed, and the dog, for warmth

A white yard, days and weeks beyond the snowfall

No makeup

Home-brewed coffee and my mother’s scrambled eggs on Sunday mornings

Chirping birds

The blare of world news in the evening

My parents’ cocktail hour filled with an hour of Dewar’s, then a dip into the Talisker

A house that’s never dusty, never with a sinkful of dishes, never with piled laundry in the bedrooms

Good lighting in the halls

A mailbox full of bills and junk-mail that isn’t for me

Garden books, history books, school books, art books

Orange juice by the gallon

Two large leather couches and proper drapes

Ettigiers, moss-covered stone baths, and chandeliers of chains from my parents’ antique store

Cats jumping from the banister in the dark

The smell of my mother’s thirteen-year-old Lexus that they refuse to replace

My brother’s basketball posters and strewn video games

The washer and dryer

Sheafs of paper stacked like cords of wood in my mother’s office

The freedom to be barefoot all day

The drive to the grocery store, the best one, two towns over

Curving green roads

Sleeping in a screened in porch

The first chill of the pool

The square panes of summer sun

Walking along an open road with no cars

Deer in the lily garden

Horses beyond the fence at the neighbor’s yard

The sound of rushing water

The afternoon shade of golden, speckled trees

Maybe it's time I took a trip home...

7 comments:

Anonymous said...

So true...home isa sweet place to be when your not there

D.T. said...

Sounds like your a little homesick...maybe a small little trip wouldnt be such a bad thing

Anonymous said...

U MAKE ME WANT TO GO HOME...TO YOUR HOUSE!

~ruthie said...

When I lived up north, my apartment was "home", and my parents house was "home home" to distinguish between the two places. Then, home was something treasured, since I only got it a few times a year.

Go and enjoy it while you still can, and appreciate having your parents and brother--life is too short and changes quickly.

Anonymous said...

Wow ... you're both literary AND poetic. I love your writing and I love your imagery.

My cramped, 300 sq. foot apt. with a view of a spacious apt across a short alley, no cold water (who needs cold water anyway?), and seven shades of white on my wall from when I thought I was going to repaint it, seems much lonelier, dingier, and positively cramped.

Just Some Guy said...

The stack of mail is so true...We so wanted to get mail every day of the year it was only major holidays that brought us that sealed joy! Perfectly put. I have added you to my list of reads! Just keep writing...

K said...

Thanks for all the great comments guys--I suppose it's the act of being away from home that makes it so rosy. As soon as my marathon Saturday classes are through, I'm headed for a weekend home...