Tuesday, January 06, 2004

Musical Interlude... 

I went home for Christmas
To the house that I grew up in
Going back was something after all these years
I drove down Monterey Street
And felt a little sadness
When I turned left on Laurel and the house appeared
And I snuck up to that rocking chair
Where the winter sunlight slanted on the screened-in porch
And I stared out past the shade tree
That my laughing daddy planted on the day that I was born

And I let time go by so slow
And I made every moment last
And I thought about years
How they take so long
And they go so fast

Across the street the Randol's oldest daughter must have come home
Her two boys built a snowman by the backyard swings
I thought of old man Randol
And his Christmas decorations
And how he used to leave them up 'til early spring
And I thought of all the summers
That I paced that porch and swore I'd die of boredom there
And I thought of what I'd give to feel another summer linger
Where a day feels like a year


Then the door flew open, and my mother's voice was laughing
As she called back to my daddy, "Come and look who's here!"
And I thought about years

Years by Beth Nielsen Chapman (from Beth Nielsen Chapman - Greatest Hits)

Oh, how I sometimes wish for such a home to go back to. Kind of impossible when, as a kid, it seems as if you're living in a new city every year.

Mind you, I wouldn't change most of my youth for almost anything. Being exposed to so many different areas of the U.S during my childhood (even in the limited fashion afforded by the military) was a terriffic learning experience.

Still, the thought of having roots somewhere, of having a family home to go back to, one that holds many milestones in its walls, is a very seductive one. The home that my family lived in for over ten years in Simi Valley (from 1987 to 2000) came closer than any before or after, despite my own dislike of the town.

It saddens me a bit that no such home exists any longer. That there's no familiar place we can congregate for family get-togethers, where we laugh about the failed paint color or remember when rose bushes were planted or marvel at the evolution of the garage. I now know that those memories were built on a foundation of lies, but the memories are very appealing nonetheless. That house was another symbol of the fracturing and reconstruction of our family, I suppose. One I'm sure I'll learn to move past. Eventually.

However, it has made me resolute about one aspect of my future. When I marry and have children, I want to live and love and raise my children in the same house. Of course I'll want to travel with my family, my someday husband and I taking the kids to new and exciting places so that they can experience the wonder of the world. But, after our vacations, our travels are done for that week or month or year, I want a home to come back to, one which holds mostly fond memories for the family I hope to help build. One where, once the children are grown, with little rugrats of their own, they can all gather for holidays and birthdays and just because.

I guess I just want my children to have the roots that I was denied as a little girl. And maybe spread new roots of my own, entwined with theirs and with the man I end up loving enough to marry, whoever he may be.


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Carol/Female/36-40. Lives in United States/California/Los Angeles/San Fernando Valley, speaks English. Spends 40% of daytime online. Uses a Normal (56k) connection.
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