Homes are important. I love my house and work hard to stay here. I can’t explain how and why it matters to me, except to say that it does. Maybe homes soak up some part of their owners. This blog is named after my first real home. My parents live in another of my homes, and there is this house.
It just matters, is all. During my labor pains, giving birth to L. in the hospital, the place I fixed in my mind was this home. The walls breathed with me and I rode the waves of pain with the pine branches outside the windows of this house. And when we brought Miss L home, we brought her here.
I know that at its core, home is where the people you love are. But when the pale winter light suddenly glows through these rooms and casts shadows of branches on these walls, I feel that it’s a tiny bit more, too.