Yesterday morning I woke-up with an image clearly emblazoned in my head. I have no idea what I had been dreaming moments before, but this image was plain as day. The picture in my mind was of a house, two stories, a wrap around porch, cedar shingles as predominantly seen in the Northwest; it was a craftsman style home. Immediately I knew what home I was seeing, as I've been looking at it for several days now on a home site. This particular house is in a neighborhood Jed and I have lived in before. To say it would be perfect for us at this time in our lives is an understatement.
I always try to correlate my dreams to something or a rationale for why I had them. Maybe I am nuts for that, but I believe they do have meaning. Dreams, in my opinion are pictures, ideas, thoughts etc that our brain cannot properly identify or process during the day and so it works these things out at night when we are resting. Before I had fallen asleep the night before, Jed and I were laying in bed talking about this particular neighborhood. We were remembering the first house we lived in in Washington. The house was built in the 1913-1920 era and had charm galore. There was an English garden as I called it in the backyard, a massive tree in the front that Paige climbed (or attempted to anyways) and an "I Love Lucy" fridge in the kitchen. Probably my favorite part about that house was all the woodwork (original), hardwood floors, claw foot tub (that we never used) and original crystal knobs etc. However, we had a landlord that decided to sell the home within a few months of us moving in and we had to find a new place. At the time that was devastating and it put in motion what would transpire months later.
His selling the house caused us to move to a different neighborhood that now occupies a lot of our discussion. The house was probably one of the smallest we've lived in, but it was comfortable and warm. The house was full of natural light and we had a pond behind our house that provided hours of amusement provided by different animals. The neighborhood was full of houses like the one I've been eying. Craftsman style. Cedar shingles. Trees. Cul-de-sacs. Quiet, very quiet. So quiet in fact, one of the things Jed and I were remembering is that I'd leave our bedroom windows cracked at night to provide a breeze. Even though it was beginning to freeze outside and we had to load the blankets on the bed to keep warm. The first night we were in the house, the cicadas were singing so loud I was legitimately freaked out; I had never heard anything that loud in my life (nor had I ever lived anywhere I could hear it so clearly). There was something about having windows open and the way it made your house smell: fresh and crisp. We actually had air conditioning at that house, most of them in that area do not (it isn't needed), but rarely did I have the air on. I always wanted the windows open instead. I miss that.There are a lot of things I miss. That house was probably the closest I've ever come to feeling like I had a home of my own.
The word home has a lot of different definitions. I have my childhood home where I grew-up. By that I actually mean the town, as my mom and I moved around a lot and once my grandpa died; I quit associating home with any one particular house. I have the home that is my grandmothers, where I spent most of my time as a child and when I'm scared or need someone to talk to, her home still provides a refuge to me. Austin, Texas (and it's surrounding suburbs) have been home off and on for the past 10 years. We've lived in different towns all around Austin, but I know exactly where everything is. I know the grocery store layouts, the local restaurants, coffee places, I have friends here etc. Belton and UMHB was home for several years. I found a family in my friends and professors. I fell in love with how small the town is. The house I lived in was never really home, but the town definitely was. Jed said something to me once when I was lamenting the fact we didn't have a home that was distinctly our own. He said that home is the people that are with you. For him, me and the kids are home and so wherever we are is home. I didn't understand that in so many words at the time, but looking back over my life; it has always been the people around me that causes me to associate whether I'm home or not.
I'm ready to go home. Whether it is the house I've found or another one, it really doesn't matter. I'm ready to take my small family of four, that will soon be five and start our new adventure. I want our kids to have a security that I never had growing up. The same school from here on out. The ability to make friends and have those same friends going into the future; until it is time for them to spread their wings and leave. I do want a house that is our own, but I also understand now it is more important the people that fill that home. If I could leave now, I would. I've made my choice. We won't even discuss how long it took me to understand all this, the point is that I get it now. All I know is that Jed must have the patience of a saint because he's known this stuff for years. Still, I'm ready to take my family and go home to a place where the cicadas are so loud they freak me out. The place I can leave my windows open and the leaves are bigger than my hands. Where Halloween is celebrated at the elementary school and the entire town shows up. Pumpkins aren't carved because the rain will make them moldy within 24 hours, but every front porch has pumpkins sitting on them. A place where the leaves dance and stir in the air like a cyclone. More importantly, the home that sings to my soul and has been my sanity when all of it seems to be gone. I've been holding onto this place like it was the only lifeline in the world since June, and it's time I go home.
Love,
The Rambling Gypsy
