Magazine’s, home networks, and electronic sites
encourage us to
declutter, tear down the old, refresh, reorganize…
It is good to do those things.
it feels like your life
is being peeled and scraped off walls
and all the little pieces are put
in the garbage can.
It is strange
that the first photos
sent out of my childhood home
being torn apart
to get ready to
sell is of
my childhood room.
The room that stayed the same…
so all the little children who ever entered
our family home
would have a “toy place.”
Looking at this picture makes me tender!
This paper knows all my secrets–knows me as me.
I was first put in my crib right there with those new butterflies to look at.
My parents kissed me goodnight every single night right there.
I learned to pray kneeling beside my bed there by a yellow bed spread.
I played dress up and lined my bed with all my dolls and stuffed animals right there.
I watch the sun rise through my window and would catch the rays in the dust while lying in my bed next to the white sheen wall paper, with my white doggy, Joey warming my feet, and day dreaming of all things a young girl wishes at different stages of her life…right there.
I heard through that very wall, lined with blue stripes, the last breathes of my mother, barely one year ago as I said good-bye for the last time…
Refreshing is good.
I am sure the freshly painted white walls will look very clean and nice.
And someone soon will walk in that freshly painted space and look all around and make some comment about using it for a gym, or office and not have a clue the spirit and life that grew up in those walls
in that tiny little room!
The garbage truck just pulled away with junk and paper inside…can you hear it.
It is gone!
More letting go…
I will keep inside forever.
This is my childhood home.
Tomorrow is the very first time in my entire life that I am anxious to go there.
I have referred to it as “The Big Yellow House on the Corner since I was young. The name stuck with everyone and it has always been some shade of yellow.
This place has had the same phone number since the day it was built.
It is the very place my parents brought me when I was fresh from heaven to add to five others. I was the caboose.
There are probably a thousand tennis and baseballs hidden in that ivy which grows all the way around the corner over a white fence.
The wreathes on the door changed for every season. My mother loved flower arranging.
There are great places for hide and seek in this yard and we played nearly every summer night.
We climbed the fruit trees and ate cherries and apricots until we got sick. The lemon tree has huge thorns and the juice from the oranges are delicious!
That front door is where I had my first kiss…
But we never entered the house through that door. That was only for picking up the mail and the vacuum cleaner salesmen…and dates. Family and friends always entered at the side gate through the back yard. The gate where the dogs waited with their tails wagging and the cats slept on top of the fence.
That entry is near the driveway where I drove a stick for the first time in a white VW bug.
It is tradition to honk as you drive past this house. It sends an “I love you” signal and to remind all that I will be back soon.
The kitchen light over the stove is always left on for us.
I had my wedding reception in this garden.
And I brought each one of my babies here to be cuddled, adored and spoiled by two doting grandparents. So did my five older siblings and then later–our own children. My parent’s posterity has grown well over 100 now!
Over to the left is the place we buried our family dog of 16 years. He had epilepsy but such a dear heart.
The lower window was where we looked out as this group of 8 had family dinner’s together, we kept adding more and more family over the years. We laughed and ate and repeated eating there over and over again.
This was for sure the chimney Santa climbed down to leave presents at Christmas.
This was the entry where friends and family entered to say their last good-bye
to my father first,
and now recently my mother.
The house sits quiet now–
Tomorrow I will fly six hours then enter the back door as I have my entire life.
The light on the stove will not be on.
There will no note from my mother welcoming me home, or a tiny rose or gardenia in a cup, or a sweet roll.
The house will be happy I have come home.
I now have to open closets and drawers and reveal the treasures my parents kept secretly hidden. I will reverently lift worn shoes and hug folded sweaters, knowing they won’t be worn any longer.
How do I face this?
How can I capture 55 years and put it in my pocket?
I want to break open the walls and pour the laughter and love inside my suitcase so I don’t have to leave it behind.
If I could I would reach around the entire house and embrace it and say thank-you over and over.
How will I be able to drive away in a few weeks and leave it–
I am not ready.
But it is time.
My parents will be there to help, I know it.
What blessings they brought to our lives.
I have so much to hold in my heart.
I love you my Big Yellow House on the Corner!
My HOME forever.
Blogcation until Sept.