Sunday, December 09, 2007
Over The River & Through The Woods
I remember ordering a book at school as a child by that title and it was basically the lyrics to the old carol with beautiful Rockwellesque illustrations. I hadn't known the song before then but I immediately fell in love with it and old-fashioned paintings. I think I liked it so much because it paralleled very closely my own little life. I've spent many nights going over the side streets and through the neighborhoods to my grandparents' homes; both paternal and maternal. It wasn't much to stretch my imagination to envision horses and sleighs.
My Grandma T. is still alive, and my only remaining grandparent. This is surreal to me. She still lives in the house that I used to visit as a child and for this I am grateful. I cannot imagine strangers living in those family homes that I tend to claim as my own. You know how I am about that.
Now that my grampa and gramma on my mom's side have both passed, that house I used to visit for sleep-overs is no one's home anymore. At least, not officially. My children's heights are recorded with lines and dates on the kitchen wall, the last addition being Mac's final entry the day she went to heaven. When we realized that gramma's time was very short, my husband turned to me and said, "They aren't going to sell this house, are they? Strangers can't live here!" You can guess what came next. Yes, The Mr. and I are praying about buying my grandparent's house.
It's a nice house to be sure. Nicer than my own, I'll grant you that. My friend asked me if I had been thinking of moving to a new area. Nope. I wouldn't be considering moving if it were not to my grandparents' home. Our home. The family home.
Mac is helping my mom caretake gramma's house for now. Last Friday the Mr., Daboyz and I spent the night there. Does that seem silly? It really is I suppose. Four adults packing up to sleep at gramma and grampa's house! Can I tell you that it feels entirely natural for me to climb into that four-poster bed that I used to share with my gramma as a little girl. It's that same bed I slept in the other night. The same creaking floor that knew my feet when they were, ahem, smaller. The same smooth door knobs under my hands. The couch that my grampa sat on and cradled my babies. The wide porch steps leading to the back door that I've had a key to for as long as I can remember.
I made a pot of coffee and drank from the same cups my grampa drank from in the mornings back before I was allowed to drink coffee.
No. I do not care to move into another house. If God permits, I will simply take my husband and my children and move home.
How sweet to rest within walls that know who you are.
Jeremiah 31:17 "So there is hope for your future," declares the LORD. "Your children will return to their own land."
Pictures: Top Left Grampa, Mymom, Amy, my Dad~Top Right Myself & Amy~Bottom Right Me & my Gramma