Wednesday, May 22, 2013
Home is where the Heart is
I have lived in many houses in many places, but one house rises above all others as the place I think of as home. None of us live there anymore. After Mom's stroke we sold it to a friend so that Mom could move to Roswell and live with Jamie. But I think it's safe to say that we all still think of it as home, even Zachary who found it to be the one constant in his nomadic Air Force Brat life. All roads led back to 921 West Plaza, even after I had grown and gone, when I said I was going home I meant this house. There are so many memories of our life there I cannot begin to capture them all, but here are the ones that come immediately to mind while looking at this picture.
First I remember our front yard which was made of white rocks instead of grass. Believe it or not we learned to run across those rocks into the melting summer asphalt and across the street to Cathy Clancy's house barefooted. The first trip of the summer was always the hardest, but by the time August rolled around we did not even give it a thought. You might think that because the yard was not lawn that maintenance would be minimal. You would be wrong. Weeds would come up all over the yard and because of the rocks you could not mow them down, they had to be pulled, or so Mom said. Have you tried pulling a weed out of the sun baked sod of the southern High Plains? I do not recommend it. Imagine my surprise when my soon to be husband Steve said "why don't you just spray them with round-up" What is this "round-up" of which you speak I asked. He turned me on to herbicide that day and it is one of the enduring reasons I love him so. Speaking of Steve, please notice the mimosa tree growing in the front. It is what you might call a late bloomer if you think it should be leafed out and in full flower in February. Steve thought so, and since it wasn't he attempted to cut it down. We put a stop to his butchery just in time. We pointed out that dormant and dead are two different things. We saved that tree and it still stands today, having grown big and sturdy enough to support the weight of three grand kids who climbed up into the cool shade of its canopy each in their turn.
To the left off the garage are buried three dogs, our beloved Panchito and Conejo, who grew up in that house right beside me and Jamie and Granny's dear Little Bit . We had thought we would put Milford's ashes there too, but now that the house is sold to another, we'll take Milford with us to our next and hopefully last house.
You can also see poking up over the roof of the house the swamp cooler. Its a bit of a dinosaur today, but when I was growing up all the houses had them, and what little I know about mechanics I learned working on the swamp cooler.
Now the road home leads to Roswell, a town I never lived in. It seems sad and strange not to take the familiar roads to my old town and my old neighborhood,, until I see all the familiar faces and things surrounded by new walls, and then I realize I am back home after all.