The Long Way Home

Here I am. In Connecticut. I lived in this state for 20 years. They say there's nothing quite like going home again, and I think for the most part that is true. What has struck me through the years moving from one house, to an apartment, and then around to a few more- is how different it feels pulling into each driveway...and how none truly compares the driveway of the house you grew up in. I used to fall asleep in the car on the way home from just about anywhere- but once the car turned up Shadblow Hill I knew that I was home and it was time to get out of the car. The comfort that feeling brought to my heart has not been lost in my memory through the years and I have often wondered if it is going to be replaced in the future when I am truly settled in a home with my very own family.

What does remind me of comfort and a sense of pulling up the driveway with the familiarity of a blanket is being in the homes of either of my parents. My dad keeps a fairly simple apartment in Hamden, Ct where I once lived when we moved out of Ridgefield. He has stayed in the same place now for about 7 years, which is crazy to think that its been that long since I lived in "The Ridge". Looking around his apartment are the typical furnishings, dining table, television, comprehensive surround sound equipment set up, etc... nothing really brings anything to mind or heart of past significance. But when I take a closer look I see items that once decorated the home we shared as a family, and I am reminded of seeing a particular painting on a different wall- in a far off house in a far off time. As I sit here, every 15 minutes with a different chime the grandfather clock bells off the meaning of a quarter past, or thirty minutes into an hour the same way its has done for the past fifteen years. I am reminded of the times I would hear it in our old house and how other times the chaos of 7 of us at one time living together would completely over power the simple chimes it plays off.

When I visit my mom's home in Florida while her decor reflects a different theme then the house I used to live with her in, there are pieces that I see that are of the olden days. When I pull open a cabinet drawer for something in the kitchen a particular knife is still being used that we had in the old house, and there is a beautiful piece of furniture that lives in her bedroom that reminds me of the living room we had that had white carpet in it before we refinished the hardwood floors. I used to walk from the screened in porch where we would eat dinner in during the warm months with dishes and serving platters of food, just praying that my clumsy self would not drop anything on the pristine white carpet.

All of these little tokens and little things recreate what I think my heart misses. I think my heart misses a central location for my entire family, a place where I can walk in the door and see everyone. I know that we are all happy where we are, and being scattered across the country does add some excitement for vacation destinations...but sometimes I do want a sitcom situation. I wish seeing my parents was as easy as a ten minute drive for dinner...instead I drove 8 hours today to come north to visit with my dad, or in other situations put myself on a plane to get to my mom. I am comforted with being here, and I am encouraged that one day I perhaps will settle down and have a central location for my children and their children- which is so weird for me to think, let alone write, because I seldom think about my future in that context. Recently my life has been this open canvas as to whatever the Lord would have me go, be, do, love, and change...so to think of being rooted, settled, in one place is just kind of funny as nothing in my life right now reflects any of those adjectives. But oh the future. How you will amaze me, and how you will completely take me by surprise.

While I am in Hamden I do plan to see some special friends I had when I lived in this area, and as I travel to Ridgefield during my time in CT I am sure many of the feelings above will come to the surface as I get reacquainted with the small town that I lived in and loved dearly comes into focus and seeing friends from the past will bring up all sorts of memories of folks loved and missed as life continues to ramble on.

So the long way home. It took 8 hours to get to the time machine that is my Father's house with all the tokens and memories tucked away into familiar pictures, and family heirlooms. I wonder if home will continue to change as I get older, and as my family changes. Yet, I know that when I am in Ridgefield this weekend I will take Ivy to Florida Hill and turn left onto Shadblow Hill, and I will pass by the home I so dearly loved from 1982-1997...and I will remember the playhouse my Poppa built for me that lived in the back yard, and I will remember the Secretary Desk that lived in the living room and witnessed every little thing dropped on the white carpet I tried to hide or deny I was responsible for... and the time machine will continue and I will be grateful for having such strong bonds and love for my childhood..the childhood I raced through to get to my adulthood because I thought that's when all the real stuff happened. Oh, why do we race through our lives to get to what we think is better? Let's just all slow down. It happens way too fast.