New Bearings in a New Place

My new neighborhood is different from my old one. It's darker, and quieter. I sleep much better here. There is a white fence around our space which quietly states: This is Ours. So far, only the local cats dare to defy the message and lap from our birdbath at their leisure. Our own cat is still too chicken to stay out for more than a few minutes. Once the king of the hill at the old place, he's still scoping out the competition cautiously.

This place is very diverse. We have condemned, crumbling houses and we have small mansions. But everyone is friendly and waves hello. We are somewhere in the middle, of course. We might describe ourselves as Decent. Pretty good house, looks nice on the outside, but no antiques on the inside.

It's quite a process, turning a house into a home. We'd been in the other place for so long. We've been here for weeks and there is still lots of piles of stuff just waiting to be dealt with. We are learning that you just have to start putting things up like you know what you're doing. It can always be changed later. That's what makes it start to feel like home. It's nice to have more elbow room. Finally, our dining room doesn't have to be a multipurpose craft room/library/study. We put the computer in the craft room and it feels right. No more computer in our bedroom. No more TV right by the front door with people passing in front of it all the time.

Of course, there are things about the old house that were better. Much more cabinet and closet space, for one thing. We are having to get really creative in how we deal with that issue and sometimes it's frustrating. But it's all a process. Change can be uncomfortable. One must look forward.

From this spot in my craft room where I am writing, there is a window which overlooks the Johnson OB clinic. It is a place that I very much desired to work. That place had a lot to do with me going back to school to get my LPN, so that I could make a career out of working with pregnant women. And here I am today, working as a rheumatology nurse. A good job, to be sure. But not my dream. Every day now, I look out the window and I am reminded of that dream. A dream that took up 15 years of my life and countless hours and efforts. And I find that it's a good reminder, that we have to allow ourselves to go wherever we are meant to go, and that most of the time, we have no idea where that is.  Yes, sometimes I envy people who seem to have the resources and the circumstances to do whatever they want. But in the end I feel peaceful. I have a loving partner and we have a vision for the rest of our life together, and the rest will work itself out.

The Lonely Soul of an Empty House

It is bad for a house to sit empty for more than a short while. Devoid of the din and movement of human life, it begins to decay. Grime settles onto the floor- they don't look too bad at first, but after 5 or 6 runs with the mop the water in the bucket is still turning dark gray. It takes on a smell that can only be called lonely, a smell like empty rooms and closed windows. I think houses can feel lonely. They want to be used; after all, that is their purpose.

We are moving into a lonely house. The kids can feel this, and it feels uncomfortable. It's not Home, it's cold and everything echoes. The wallpaper and the paint are not ours; they were chosen by strangers. It will take time to love these new rooms and to groom them into a place in which we feel an emotional embrace when we walk in the front door. It will take time.

The house wants to be loved. Generations of families have climbed the stairs and kissed in the bedrooms and cried in the kitchen. Now it is our turn.

The house we are leaving will not sit empty. It has a new family waiting to come in and love it. Nineteen years ago when we were just children of 19 ourselves and knew nothing about loving a house, we moved there and the house had been sitting empty. Its occupant had fallen asleep smoking on her couch and started a smoldering fire. It was her misfortune that brought us to our first home. The house was repaired and put on the market for a pittance by the elderly sibling who all the trouble was bequeathed to. That house was lonely too- it's sole occupant of 30 years had left it- but it was August and there was enough sun streaming in the windows to chase the sadness into the corners. The floors were still just as grimy and we had almost no furniture to fill the many rooms. Over the years we filled it with children and many other things, and it came to life.

This new house is going to come back to life through the touch of our hands and the sound of our laughter.It will take some time but one of these days we will walk through its rooms and realize, quite suddenly, that it feels like Home.

Ghosts of Christmas Past

A day off work. I was up at 7, brewing coffee and reloading the dishwasher. I don't want to waste any of my time off lying in the bed. It has become so precious.

I was thinking recently about Christmases of recent past. Last Christmas, I had to work 7-3 at the assisted living facility. I worked every single day then. 6am on a Saturday morning would roll around and I'd feel so depressed about getting up. I still feel that way sometimes, but I am in a much better place now- I mean, I just qualified for my free life insurance!- and I am so grateful.

I am also able to understand the simple peace of having my whole family together for the holiday. I know someone whose son was just murdered. Another whose husband hung himself out in his shed a few weeks ago. People are hurting, and in years past, it was our family who was hurting. The first Christmas after Joe's brother died, his absence filled the air as much as we tried to turn from it.

I recall one Thanksgiving distinctly when I had to go visit my daughter in juvenile detention for the holiday. As I was escorted through the double locked doors, the smell of a holiday meal brushed my face. They were making a special meal for these kids in their navy jumpsuits. I had about an hour with my daughter that day, sitting across from her at a long row of plastic tables. I wasn't allowed to hold her hand. I went back out to my car and cried. There was another holiday, maybe the same year but maybe another- when we went up to Maryland for Christmas and left her behind in her cell at home. I wish now that I had kept better notes from that time- but pushing it all as far away from my heart as possible is how I survived it. We got a 5 minute phone call.

Those were sad years. And right now, people everywhere are going through it. I am choosing to feel thankful that my children are safe and well, they are home, and they are free. The daughter that gave me so much heartache has now given me a grandson. An amazing gift- one I did not want to receive. One I did not realize could fill my heart with so much love, enough to erase all the pain of the past. Enough to take my breath away.

Other Christmases of the past: People leaving bags of groceries on our porch because we were so broke. Joe having to deliver newspapers every Christmas for 10 years. Driving up to Maryland after the newspapers were done, getting there late and having a twinkling tree greeting us in the dark. The magic of little ones waking to American Girl dolls having tea under the tree, back when the gifts could come from Goodwill and no one knew or cared.

I hear people talking a lot about gifts at Christmas, and I was realizing that Joe and I rarely exchange gifts. We just don't. Back in the lean years, I spent what I had on the children. Maybe that just became habit. This year, we are giving each other a huge gift: a house. We close in a week. We'll need a new hot water heater and washer and dryer set. And it's going to be a chaotic New year's weekend for us.

But when you have one of those years where things are good, where you get to be the lucky ones for awhile, you learn to just soak it in. And when you've known those darker roads, it just makes you appreciate it all the more.