What I'm listening to: "Left Me a Fool" (Indigo Girls)
This weekend, I'm traveling to PA to spend some time with the fam. My parents bought a new house about six months ago, so they're having an open house.
Over Christmas, we helped them pack and move everything, and I was a lot less nostalgic than I'd expected. Part of this is because we'd already gone through the process of packing up my grandparents' house in 2000, which was extremely difficult. THAT was the house I associated with my childhood, and still do; I often find myself dreaming about that house. The yellow curtains in the kitchen window, my blackboard and chalk in the basement, the strangely comforting smell of Camel cigarettes, iced tea with mint picked from Grandmom's backyard, the big orange pillow I'd sprawl on with Pop to watch "Lawrence Welk" (while we ate Breyer's peach ice cream), the blue flowered blanket I'd snuggle under in the back bedroom, the drawer full of dress-up clothes (which Grandmom would always stuff with fabulous scarves)...it's amazing how clear and vivid those images are, whereas the memories of 117 Drexel are quickly fading.
I think this is healthy. For so long, I clung to old plans and expectations. How couldn't I, when every time I visited my parents' house, the entire street was rife with memories of my childhood and young adulthood? I moved away from home when I was 21; yet whenever I'd come back for a visit, I was immediately a kid again. And this was not necessarily a good thing.
Now, it's a whole new start for everyone. My mom is finally away from the street she grew up on; my dad finally has a flat lawn to fuss over. My sister is finally moving on to campus next year. And as I keep telling my parents, this new home is a PERFECT "grandparents' house." (Here's hoping!)
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