Letter To Home

Dear House:

I remember laying eyes on you for the first time.

Peering through the windows.

Impressed with the spacious kitchen;

And the enormous old elm tree.

And I thought, "Maybe this is the place for us . . . "

Ten years later, it turns out you far surpassed that 'maybe.'

And in our present circumstances, as we set about giving you a facelift,

I'm kind of thinking you've suffered a bit at our hands.

And beneath our feet.

You allowed my family and friends access to every square inch of you.

A tiny tornado took care of the aged backyard elm.

I was every bit as saddened as you.

As a place of light and sun and fun . . .

. . . the kitchen has reigned supreme as THE gathering place.

Thank you for the countless hours I've spent in it with my favorite peeps.
So-o-o much coffee and cooking and cracking up.

It's taken a good beating for all it's provided to humans and animals alike.

Lately, more of an emphasis on ANIMALS.

As you would expect, we LIVED out many a moment in your living room.

MANY-Y-Y a moment!

And the pockets of pretty have brought me comfort.

Though parking CARS in your garage has been problematic,

fitting a 4-piece band in proved a cinch!

You EARNED your mortgage payment here, my friend!

I'm fairly confident you're a Denver fan.

(At least you dress like you are.)

It was gracious of you to allow my husband to wreak havoc on the walls.

The walls of his music man cave, that is.

And you've reminded me about this fan more times than I care to recall!

SORRY!

At least I exercised good judgement here . . . 

I didn't allow REAL darts in Zachary's room.

You're welcome!

I'm never lost inside your familiar halls.

And though I've been the reluctant lady of my suburban castle,

my respect and affection for your functionality has grown with every year.

Even your wear and tear is rather pretty.

You've aged naturally.

For more than 3,650 nights, you've pushed back the shadows.

Sparrows, starlings, chickadees, wrens, cardinals and jays.

They brag to their friends of the buffet on Marilyn Court.

I promise to address this neglect.

A-a-a-a-and, this is my next 'warm day' project.

Really it is.

I bought the stripping head for my drill last week!

I've tried to maintain air quality for you.

The duct cleaner will be here next month.

Hang in there!

Without you to turn to for comfort and solitude,

my family and I would not have healed nearly as well as we have.

As you know, 

in 20 days I'll celebrate my 25th wedding anniversary.

I love my husband for myriad little things.

And it is the same with you, dear family home.

You are a colorful sort.

Behind your doors, precious lives and their artifacts are stored.

Each and every thing has a place to stay.

And often you wait patiently for me to recollect exactly WHERE those places are.

(Fortunately, in this case, you didn't have to wait . . . 

weren't you just a tiny bit impressed?)

After a decade, you still surprise me with new perspectives.

You provided me with a lovely playground!

(I realize the dogs have sullied it to a degree.)

I'm painfully aware of my undone TO-DO project list.

Perhaps I'll let the bench and bricks find new homes?

Would you prefer that?

I'm listening to you.

  You have witnesses.

Really, what I'm trying to say . . . 

(and saying rather clumsily)

. . . is that if we DO have to find another family for you:

I hope they will enjoy your every nook and cranny.

Right down to the last crumb and dust mote.

I pray they will take the time . . . 

. . . to stop and admire the hydrangeas.

 And to peek across the fence to meet their wonderful neighbors.

But until then, I'll just keep on inching forward.

Touching up that which is already so very beautiful and blessed.

And I won't rest . . . 

(okay, I WILL rest, but not perpetually)

. . . until I wrestle every last FIX-IT to the carpet!

Because each time the western sky displays day's surrender to night,

I'm reminded of how very much you have loved on us.

And how very much I LOVE YOU.

Ever So Sincerely,

You're Reluctant Suburbanite

(Whose life is presently as sideways as this photo!)

XOXOXO

My Laptop Valentine

Most of my Valentine's Day this year was spent curled up in the living room with a heating pad, my iPhone, the television remote and my laptop.  Sidelined by my uterus.  The fixings for our annual candlelit dinner remained in the freezer and pantry.  Gift-getting - my annual perfume fix - was put on hold due to our continued unemployment.  Still, my honey and I enjoyed simply inhabiting the same space, content in the knowledge that we've had 26 of these specific February days shared between us.  And God willin' and the creek don't rise, we'll add 27 next year!  At one point during my forced stillness, I perused the random photo collections on my Dell.  Most of the pictures were taken in 2010.  With a few camera downloads from times where I needed the disc space and was away from home and away from the Mac.

I discovered the following:

There they are.  My family.  My nuclear clan of kids and spouse.  This ranks as my all-time favorite Christmas photo.  For a period of years after we moved to Tennessee, we'd all dress up, digging out clothes that would loosely match and quickly iron them, hastily arrange our hair, ensure the makeup was right, and then I would grab a neighbor for a rapid photo session somewhere in our yard or house.  The session itself never lasted more than probably 15 minutes.  Whatever the results, we picked a pose and THAT shot went in with the 80+ holiday cards I painstakingly signed, addressed and mailed to relatives and friends.  Three years have come and gone since last we acted out this little holiday play.  My sending of cards has been sporadic, sparse and often tardy.  Two of my three children now live outside the Volunteer State.  Come June, the third in my trio of offspring will uproot and replant in her own place with her very own husband.  And that will leave yours truly.  AND the handsome hunk in the red shirt.

So let's talk about him.  Because I wanna.  

Because most of the time I'm around him, I wanna kiss him somewhere on his sweet mug.

Because he could care less about the exhilaration of leaping into a pool of freezing water in below-freezing temperatures with his fellow Murfreesboroans to celebrate the new year . . . but he made the jump anyway -- for me, because I cared.  (And, like the chip off the old block that he sometimes is, so did his son!)

Because whenever the opportunity arises to hold a baby or small child, he takes it and makes it a memorable moment for the wee one, himself and those looking on.

Because he constantly declares, "I'm not very good at the guitar."  But he IS good.  Good in the way a guy who doesn't spend all of his time plucking the strings but possesses natural talent and a love for the instrument is good.  Practicing whenever he can carve out a session: his twangy notes filling the house despite the soundproof material nailed to the walls of his small studio.  His personality rounding out the music like the presence of a solid bass-line.  

Because his grown children wanna kiss him, too.  That's pretty darned telling . . .   

Because he passed on that innate quality which draws people to him, including little ones, to his son.  I watch them.  Both of them.  People feel comfortable in their presence.

Because I married an athlete/musician and he ain't a bad boy. 

Because even when I resembled Tweety Bird for a time (and shaved my head in a previous necessary hair adventure), my beauty never escaped his eyes.

Because the man can sleep almost anywhere.  And looks kissably cute doing it.

Because the man likes to SAY he's not a pet person but if you interviewed any of our past or present domesticated animals, THEY would quite disagree with his personal assessment!

Because he loves his mama.

Because he waited patiently through 20 years of marriage for me to start drinking coffee with him.

Because he wore THAT apron one Thanksgiving!!!

Because for every momentous occasion in my adulthood, he figures in each of them, front and center.  

Because my grandma thinks he's a sweet man and a good husband and father.

Because he still throws a mean football . . . 

. . . and passed that skill on to his boy.

Because whenever he kisses me, I still feel JUST like I look here.  And I've felt that way since our very first kiss back in 1980-something-or-another.