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magidWalking home from getting the last ingredients, I realized I really was walking *home.* I've lived in this city longer than I've lived anywhere else, and I've been in this apartment longer than anywhere but the house in Paxton.
I thought about going home to Paxton, and realized that even if my parents lived there now, that wouldn't make it home, still. It will always be the house I grew up in, and I'll always have a place in my heart for it because of that. I watched it being built, "helped," even. Still, it's been too long since I've lived there for any length of time, over half a lifetime ago; the emotions are faded, some. I'm allergic to that house (literally), and though there are times I wish I could go through it again, I think the long road towards having an adult relationship with my parents is made easier by not being in the same place where I used to play "toss the wiggie up." It's been hard for me not to revert to teenager around them, at times. And in some way, wherever they are will be home; they are always going to remember me as I was (until they aren't, but I don't want to think about that just now), know all those little things about me.
But now, this place is home. It has all of my stuff, has had a fair number of memories made here. I know this place well (though I admit to only finding the light in the hall closet a few months ago), know how the sun comes in the kitchen in the afternoon, and how the rain sounds on the skylight. When I come back after a day at work, it is a good place to be (well, as long as there isn't *too* much mess....), relaxing, easy.
Being this long in one place, the geography is familiar, a map of what is and what was. I love that I can run into people as I walk down the street (hi, Charlie!), and I am lucky enough to have lots of friends here.
For all this, I give thanks.
I thought about going home to Paxton, and realized that even if my parents lived there now, that wouldn't make it home, still. It will always be the house I grew up in, and I'll always have a place in my heart for it because of that. I watched it being built, "helped," even. Still, it's been too long since I've lived there for any length of time, over half a lifetime ago; the emotions are faded, some. I'm allergic to that house (literally), and though there are times I wish I could go through it again, I think the long road towards having an adult relationship with my parents is made easier by not being in the same place where I used to play "toss the wiggie up." It's been hard for me not to revert to teenager around them, at times. And in some way, wherever they are will be home; they are always going to remember me as I was (until they aren't, but I don't want to think about that just now), know all those little things about me.
But now, this place is home. It has all of my stuff, has had a fair number of memories made here. I know this place well (though I admit to only finding the light in the hall closet a few months ago), know how the sun comes in the kitchen in the afternoon, and how the rain sounds on the skylight. When I come back after a day at work, it is a good place to be (well, as long as there isn't *too* much mess....), relaxing, easy.
Being this long in one place, the geography is familiar, a map of what is and what was. I love that I can run into people as I walk down the street (hi, Charlie!), and I am lucky enough to have lots of friends here.
For all this, I give thanks.