Living Large Even When it Doesn’t Feel Like it
I’ve lived in many places in my life, but have only called a few of them “home.”
My first home was the Little Green Bungalow, my parent’s first home. When I was 15, we moved to the Big Brick Tudor, a 1920 era house that was once the largest in our town. It was my mother’s Dream Home. It is that house that I sometimes miss; probably because it was the last home that I shared with my parents and brother.
This past weekend, I dreamed of that home, being there with my mother and Dale in its expansive Victorian era rooms with the beautiful wood beams, trim and built-in bookcases and china cabinet.
Dale and I were renovating the house, so we must have owned it in my dream. The vision was so real that when I awoke, I could still smell the smells of the house and feel what it like standing inside and outside of it on the driveway.
When I awoke, I longed not only for my mother and home, but rooms where size wasn’t the constraint on placing furniture and decorating.
“I had a dream we were back in Mom’s house renovating it,” I told Dale when I was up making coffee on Sunday morning. “I wish we would have bought that house.”
When we realized Branson, the closest large town, didn’t have a place to have Dale’s glasses made on a Sunday, I felt even more homesick, and that feeling spread to Dale.
The conveniences of moving furniture on a whim and being able to even make a spontaneous trip for the most basic of things and possibly meet up with friends for dinner and/or drinks is impossible at Our Little House.
There is only one way to place furniture in the tiny living room and larger stores that offer conveniences such as making glasses the same day are two hours away, which requires planning and hiring a pet sitter for the dogs.
Living in Our Little House is not always easy and it sometimes doesn’t feel like we’re living very large.
But then we’re reminded of the things we have and can do here: A cozy respite away from the inconveniences and nuisance neighbors sometimes cause; five dogs (I don’t know of any suburb where you can have five dogs including a pit bull); the hoot of “our” owl lulling us to sleep at night or the coyotes raising a fuss at dusk; low utility bills; the beauty of the lake and best of all, a house that can be cleaned in less than an hour.
I needed to talk to someone from home and we called one of our best friends, my godbrother and his wife on Sunday. It wasn’t dinner and drinks, but he made me laugh enough to ease the uneasy feeling of homesickness that still sinks in from time to time.
When I got off the phone, Dale and I cooked brunch and enjoyed a day watching movies and shows we DVR’d throughout the week. By the time we headed back to bed, we were fully present in this life again. The coyotes had sung their song in the woods and the owl seemed even closer to Our Little House, our home.
Do you ever miss someplace you called home?