28.6.12

Making your house a home.

 Growing up, my family moved around a lot. It seems every few years, and sometimes less, we were packing up and moving. Now that I am in my thirties, the number of times that I have moved is somewhere close to 30. I don't keep track anymore. It's a lot of moving. A lot of changes happen with moving. New friends, new schools, new houses.

One thing that we could always depend on growing up was my mom setting up a pretty home. Whatever house we ended up in, she always made sure that we had lovely things surrounding us. In the scheme of things, I think that is what made all the moves a little bit easier on us kids. We always had the familiar family furniture passed down from my great grandmother, pretty dishes, and things that really made our house a home. Where ever we ended up, we were still home.

With my own family, though my family is still very young, I've tried to carry that with us a bit. On our last move cross country there were many things that were sold, or given away, because we just didn't have the space in the moving truck. It's always a little sad to see those things that have been part of your life go away. But I've held onto enough to keep our "house" a familiar home to my family. My mother handed down to me one of my great grandmother's side tables and her soup terrine. Though I've never used the soup terrine I still love to see it there in it's safe place amidst my other nice dishes.  Someday when my kids are older, and when everything doesn't seem to get broken so often, perhaps I'll take it out and use it!
All these pretty little things that I've now collected over the years have become a part of our home. They have history. Gifts that friends have given. Family heirlooms, which are especially special to me since we are so far from extended family and friends, settle in on shelves and around the house. It's nothing extravagant, but something here and there to remind us that "we're home".

Above my bed I have a crucifix that my grandmother gave me. As anyone who knew her would tell you, she was quite the character. You "minded" grandma. When she said "Warsh your hands!", you ran and did it! If she told you to be quiet during Jeopardy or Murder She Wrote, you were quiet. Despite her harshness, she had her tender moments. Looking up at that crucifix now I can look back on that time in my life growing up with fondness and miss her. Yes, even those harsh moments.

 All those little things bring back memories or some memory of love that has been in my life and though they are just things and will pass away, I'm grateful for the memories that they hold. The stories that they contain I can pass on to my own children.

Is there something special that you keep, even though it might be old and broken, or faded and worn?

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