A House Called Home

I was looking through pictures in my mom's iphoto albums several evenings ago {remember, I have her ibook now because mine mysteriously ended up on our tile floor from the couch?! So odd how those things happen!}. Anyway, I found this picture taken three years ago when it was sold:

It's the lovely little house I grew up in! That top window slightly ajar was mine. A sort of Romeo-meets-Juliet framework. I was a little over a year when we moved in, but it's the only house I've ever known. When I look at this picture and remember it now, I would die to own a house like this, in a location like here...well, a tad smaller would be better. But in my teens years, I despised the apparent 'smallness'. Guess that's what happens when all but a few of your best friends move into a gated community with gargantuan custom-built homes. Truly a bummer to be so confused and ungrateful.

One of my favorite things about this house, not counting my window, was the color. Bright but not in-your-face yellow. A cheerful yellow. How could you not be excited to come home with a paint color to greet you like this one? That green front door was the backdrop for all my first day of school pictures. From a little tyke in a t-shirt and leggings with a tin lunch pail to a high school cheerleader in uniform. Behind our backyard fence was an open field. One rainy day, a friend & I had a full out mud fight with huge chunks of sloppy, wet mud. During the summer, we'd sled down the grassy hill on cardboard then climb the oak tree on slabs of wood nailed to the trunk like a tree-house.

It's funny how you move on and forget most things. I was chatting with a friend from high school the other day, and I was so shocked by how little I remembered. I think I remember more dance moves from routines than I do specific events from those days.

I do remember some things. Like, being crammed into Valley View's girls' bathroom stall in second grade. Helping my friend, Shawna, clean up after she didn't make it in time while trying not to gag. In middle school, Limited 2 was the place to shop. And even though I had clothes from there, I still didn't feel like I fit in. Probably because of my forehead break-outs and braces. Just so awkward.

Freshman year had me literary running from cheer practice to theatre rehearsal in the MP while juggling soccer practices and games. I remember trying not to fall asleep in some classes because I was up late the night before studying. And that horrid buzzing sound of the alarm in the morning before A period. No one should have to wake before the sun; I guess unless they're farmers.

This house holds some good memories and some hard ones. Hard ones like my mom's miscarriage on my 10th birthday during the middle of the night. I can still see her trying to walk down the stairs while leaning on my dad. It was the first time we had to call 911. Or the night I woke up to my mom screaming and glass breaking. Someone had thrown bricks into two of our front windows. I don't think I was ever a deep sleeper after that.

When W and I were dating and getting to know each other, we whole-heartedly agreed that if we met in high school, we would have never dated. He was the track geek who ate in class and was too skinny for my taste. Always 'friends' with the teachers because he was the younger sibling of so-and-so. He likes to remind me that he use to tutor cheerleaders like me. Whoa, I took lots of AP classes, buster! But I'm glad he got to see my old house. Our first kiss was there actually, when he came to meet my parents for the first time. A few months after we became an item.

After it was sold, I drove by on the way to lunch with a friend. It felt strange. I'd spent almost 18 years on that court, in that house. And now, an entirely new family was living in it. Their truck was parked where our suburban use to be. That meant they were swimming in their pool. Eating cereal in front of their television with the sunlight pouring in from their slider-door. Looking out their kitchen window at the beautiful view.

Even though I miss it, I wouldn't want to go back. I love our Swenson house very much {well, technically it is a townhouse}. It's small with only a patio, but it's our home. It's not yellow but it's still welcoming. Of course, we'd love to own a nice little house one day, don't get me wrong. But I'm in no rush to upgrade just yet. I like the memories we are creating in this space.

{{There was really not point to this post, just a remembrance of an old place.}}

You can never go home again, but the truth is you can never leave home, so it's all right. ~Maya Angelou