Sunday, January 25, 2015

Not just a's a home.

Growing up, I lived in 15 different houses. I can mark time in my head based on which house I was living in. When I say that I hate moving, I really mean it. Moving makes me physically ill. January 16, 2015 was the ninth anniversary of officially owning my own home. My little family has lived in this little house for nine years -- the most amount of time I have ever lived in one house.

On those particular days where I feel defeated by the world, I remind myself that things could certainly be worse and I am so damn lucky to have the life I do. There is a specific kind of comfort in coming home after a shitty day, flopping on your couch, wrapping yourself up burrito style in a quilt your great grandma made, all while fending of slobbery kisses from your dogs, and listening to your husband and child make dinner for you in the kitchen. Because they want to make you happy. Because they care. It's one of the top five best feelings in the universe. Not everyone gets to have this feeling because not everyone has a happy little house with a happy little family inside. It is really hard to hold on to the mad/sad when you find yourself in a vortex of good.

So yeah, it's not just a's a home. It's a place where people come to hang out and just be. My house is home to more folks than just my little family. A couch to crash on while you're going through a divorce, a garage where we play darts when you're stressed about work, a patio where we barbecue and reminisce around the fire, a front porch that is "base" for neighborhood kids playing tag, a kitchen to hang out in while we make potluck style dinner and share heavy of right now I have three kinds of beer in my fridge that folks have left because they know they'll be back to drink it.

I don't think in all the years I've been writing that I have ever written a poem about a house -- or more specifically, a home. I guess it's time to give that a whirl. Posted below is my start. I don't want to put any more on this blog because after some more work (read: blood, sweat, possibly tears), I think this might be something I will eventually want to submit.

House Home

What is the most amazing thing about my house?
The folks who come inside
and make it my home.

The friends and family who walk in,
who comfortably open my fridge,
who know which cupboard holds my coffee mugs.

I own this structure
the wood and cement,
the plaster and lathe,
and I keep building it up
fleshing it out
filling it with heart

but you have the guts...

Yes. This is my home. Isn't it the cutest bungalow EVAR!?