A Real Place

It seems about once a week is my normal blogging time these days. At least for now. I'm spending my days boxing and unboxing. Organizing a kitchen again. Finding things I've not seen in years. Like letters from my son in 1995 when he went to boot camp. My daughter's bronzed baby shoes. A ceramic bowl given to me by my grandmother. My mother's china that serves 10. Pillows, lamps, linens, pictures, stemware, and on and on. The house is filling up.

I can see the end of the tunnel, however.

I'm pressing on. At times I feel like I'm walking through a dream. That at some point I'm going to wake up and it's all going to be gone. Funny how that moves me to finish. Like if I finish the house, then I won't wake up.

I've forgotten all the details to housekeeping. We've lived with my mother-in-law for seven years. Seven long years. It's been a blessing in a large sense. There are good reasons why we did this. But, well, two women in one house for that long ... it's not healthy. It's just time. Time to have our own home.

I'm hoping to be back to my old writing schedule within the month. For now, this house is all I can think about. You see, I've never owned my own home. Never had my name on a deed. My husband has been instrumental in the fulfillment of this dream. Yet isn't it strange, a woman of my age, homeless in a sense, all my life.

I'm grateful. You learn to never take anything for granted. I tear up and giggle at the same time. Almost every day. This summer I'm enjoying moving into my own house. Not a dream, but a real place I can finally call home.

Blessings to you and yours.