Why Home Matters to ME.

Go ahead and grab some coffee, because this is mighty long winded.  :)

Recently, my step-mom, who I love dearly, passed to me a beautiful set of Fostoria glassware.  She actually gave it to me almost a year ago, but we just recently purchased a new-to-us china cabinet and so I sat down with the Rubbermaid boxes full of the newspaper wrapped glasses and bowls and glee-fully went through it all. 

Rewind to a few days before...

My aunt sent me a picture text asking if I wanted a dual photo frame thing from my grandparent's house.

Rewind to a few weeks before that...   Am I confusing you yet? Perhaps I should have started at the beginning?  Oh well. 

A few weeks ago, my grandpa announced he was getting re-married.  My late grandmother passed away in early 2009.  I know I speak for the whole family when I say that we all miss my grandmother dearly.  She was such an important part of my family and such an important part of many of my memories growing up.  I'm also very happy that my grandpa has found someone to love and have companionship with again, I can only imagine how lonely it must be to go through losing someone so important after so many years together.

I guess now would be a good time for a disclaimer, for any family members that might read this.  Although this may mention my childhood, my parents did not short come me in any way..  They loved me, do love me, and I love them.  This may also mention other people, but it really isn't about the people at all.  Well, then, what is it about, you ask?

Home.

Thinking about it now, it may seem to be about things, but it really isn't about the things I mention either.  It's all about Home and the memories that are made there.

When I think of my childhood home, I draw a blank.  My parents worked for the prison system and when I was what you would consider a child, we lived in prison housing..  somewhat like army housing I guess, for those of you who aren't familiar.  When my parents divorced, we moved into an apartment with my mom for a few years.  She then transferred to a new prison, across the state, and we moved into a cute little rental house.  We lived there for a year or two until she purchased home in a town about 15 miles away.   It is a beautiful, older home, with a ton of character.. and I suppose I should consider it the house I grew up in, the house I put down roots, but I don't.  After all, we moved there when I was in 9th grade and I eventually grew up and moved out.    The one house that is a constant of my childhood, up until this point in my life, has been my grandparent's house.   Even with the moves, I could go there and it was still the same.  Even with the huge emptiness of my grandmother not being there in the recent visits, it has still been the same house, which is a huge comfort to me. 

I remember Summers there, riding four wheelers through the pastures and woods behind their house.  I remember Christmas and Thanksgiving gatherings with all of my many, many cousins.  I remember the year they put in their pool, and my cousin Dana and I were allowed to get in while it filled, but only on the steps.  :)    I remember when my grandpa tried to get into the Emu business and there were emu cages with emu babies behind the house, and big green emu eggs.  I remember my grandmother cleaning out their travel trailer, getting it ready to go to the lake.   I remember helping her clean the house, when I was a bit older, during the summers when I would stay there.. and I remember my grandpa walking in from checking his cows and commenting how clean the house smelled, with a big smile; and, I would be so proud. A moment he may not remember, but a moment that meant a lot to a child seeking approval.  I even remember not being allowed in my grandmother's formal dining room when I was really young, and now, as an adult, it makes me smile.

I believe, deep down, my grandmother, and her house, is the reason that I insist on decorating like a crazy person at Christmas, because she did and I loved it.  I loved her.  I miss her.

Now here is a little insight into my psych, that I find a little disturbing, and you might too.  I don't really cry.  I guess I do when I'm really mad, or I'm really stressed; but overall, I'm not a big crier like most girls.

However, when I was pulling out those newspaper wrapped tea glasses and plates, I started sobbing as memory after memory of my grandmother and her house, came flooding back.  She owned a set of Fostoria just like my step-mom, and she never hesitated to bring it out and set her table with it.  She would claim any day a special occasion while we were there, which made me feel special. 

My grandfather's new bride to be is moving in her things (as expected) and part of me wonders what is moving out.  Family photos?  I know at least a few, since my aunt offered one to me.  I know when we go there for their wedding next month, the house will look completely different.  Actually, I've been warned and I'm okay with that.  After all, it isn't my house and I would do the same thing in their situation.  Still, part of me is grieving the house that has been my constant over the last 27 years. 

Which brings me to my point.  Finally, you say!  :)

Home is very important to me.  I'm slowly realizing why this house, and making it a place that my children will remember, is such a priority that I'm so fixated on.  New shoes?  No.  I need to buy paint.  NEED to.  NEED.  $50 for a dinner out?  Why on Earth would we do that when there are pillows to buy?  Pillows!  How insane is that?  Pretty gosh darn insane, I know.

So I guess this is my Public Service Announcement to those of you who are just as insane as I am.

Buy that pillow.  Roll on that paint.  Use the special dishes just to make your children feel special.  Do whatever it is, that you have to do, to create a home that will be a constant for your family.  It might end up meaning more to them one day, than you might think.

:)

Courtney