I am headed West in the morning. Home as you call it. But, it isn't the "home" I plan to dedicate this blog to at the time... There are different definitions according to the song in my slideshow. Anyway... before I get to that... My stepmommy is turning 50 so her daughter has come in from North Dakota with her three kids and my stepbrother and his wife are coming in with their two girls from Oklahoma. We are going to have an amazing family weekend! Before I get there I am making a detour through Snyder to go through Grandmommy's house. Being the only grandchild when your mother has passed does not have perks. Yes, I get half of everything... but, I do not like the business side of things. I do not like going through one's things. I just want to honor her memory forever so I want to have things of hers that will remain timeless and be given to my own grandchildren. It doesn't help that being in her home where "she" always was and always greeted me at the door is quite strange.
The word "home" is once again used.
I began piecing together a slideshow of "The House That Built Me." When I say I am going "home" I am now going to Midland, Texas. My Dad and Brenda live there now, but it is not my hometown. I consider it home now as they are my heart and my blood and they are there in their existence. In my heart the home that built me is in Big Spring, Texas. After Mom passed we all moved on with our lives because we must... that home then became more of just a house. The essence of our small three person family was forever changed. Once Dad and Brenda united we all knew they had to build their own home together. Of course, they could have stayed in the Cecilia Street home forever and built it in their hearts, but there would always be a tiny piece of their own missing. We all have to move on and build our own heart of a home. A home is place where you make your life with your family. I told a friend the other day how much I respected her now looking back. Her house was tiny and in it lived five people. She and her brother shared a room while her mother and other brother slept in the other room while the father was usually away on business. They never thought twice about it. They are the closest family I have ever known. I had friends living in mansions with many rooms. I wonder if it was a true home in their heart?
I get upset when people from West Texas forget our roots. We are raised to be "downhome good folk." Some move to the Metroplex and get sucked into the Northpark life of millionaires and mansions. Drive this car. Look this way. Have this house in that neighborhood. Sometimes I will lose myself telling Nick what all he needs do to do his house. I start talking about flooring and columns being ripped out and painting certain colors. I forget that growing up I never once thought about it. I grew up in an amazing house with large rooms and wonderful color. It wasn't a mansion and I never thought about it. Dad and Mom had a new living area built, a huge dream bathroom... always building and changing it as the times flew by... It was perfect to us. The times I remember in that house were filled with happiness. Crazy memories. Funny memories. Lovely memories. Did you know I cut a huge gash in my leg while making my parents' bed because I was standing on the bed and rammed into the light? Did you know I was so excited to put a handprint in the basketball court cement in the backyard, but I scratched the inside of my eye and by the time I got home from the doctor could only scratch my name with a nail in the cement and that is why there is no handprint? Did you know my parents said in order for me to be in a sorority I had to paint the exterior of the house before college so I spent the summer in my bikini getting a tan and painting that house? Oh boy... Did you know...
Cecilia Street is a memory embedded in my mind. The house that built me was built with help by our amazing neighbors whom I still enjoy visiting... and my next door neighbor, Cody is my best guy friend and lives right here in Dallas with me. I pray one day to have a neighborhood such as this where my children can run and play and enjoy the day. I pray I can give them the same childhood my parents gave me. No, it wouldn't have mattered if we lived in a box or a huge house on a hill... anywhere I was with them would have been the same home. Mom pulling up in the driveway honking numerous times as I ran out to help her with the groceries. Dad climbing in the tree looking down at me in amazement at her heroic tree climbing pops. Mom yelling at the end of the hall as I was in a totally different room for me to get back and turn out that light. Yes... all in a home.
There are many different types of homes. Since I moved away from Cecilia Street I made a few my own. Living in the dorms in a tiny room among amazing friends at Texas Tech. Moving to the apartments and then a little house with sorority sisters enjoying our days together. Moving off on my own to Abilene, Tyler and then Dallas. All making homes my own. And one day... building a heart of a home with my loved ones.