Home is Where The Heart Is

Today, finding myself with a some extra time and feeling a little nostalgic, I took a drive by my old house. At the bottom of the street, I felt the little twist in my stomach. That twist, which was once so prevalent in my daily life, doesn't show his face very often anymore, but here it was again, like an old friend leading me home.  I drove slowly, noting all the changes that my former neighbors had made to their yards. Our California version of rain has everything blooming beautifully. I love this street still.  I love that it is in the foothills and that there are no streetlights, no sidewalks and is about as quiet as this little city gets. I love the memories of walking/running the neighborhood with my daughter while getting ready to run our half marathon. I love seeing how each home owner deals with living on a hillside in a different way. Each of them trying to prevent the erosion that every big storm brings on (at our house there was a different kind of storm and an uglier kind of a erosion). I especially loved my slightly north of middle income home that had been loved by only one other family besides ours. The couple that we purchased from had been put into convelesent homes and it sat sad and empty when my girl and I spotted it. Like a ghost town, that once bustled with life, you could see that it had been loved but slowly fell into disrepair. The Secret Keeper and I were able to ignore our bigger problems for a time as we poured our hearts and our energy into the kids, house and yard.

That's OK. The storms are over now and, for me, it's springtime. Not so much for my Secret Keeper but I keep praying for that.

It was a good trip. I didn't cry and I didn't feel sorry for myself. Moving forward. 

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