family

An Old Place

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I like old places.  Old houses, old barns.  Places with memories.  I had occasion to spend time at an old place this weekend.  He and I made some new friends and had a grand time.

It spun me off into my own memories.  I had an old house one time.  Tall ceilings, tall windows, wood floors, separate rooms, each leading off to another and back around again.  I still wake up at night from dreams of that old house.  It still stands, but was relocated and is no longer mine except in my heart and memory and dreams.

My father’s parents had an old house, too.  I loved it very much.  So many places to hide and to sit and to day dream.  My mother’s mother had a garden.  Roses, cannas, bananas, elephant ears, and caladiums beside a houdash pond.  My mother sewed and quilted and cooked and baked and laughed and talked in this very house where we now live.

See how the memories tumble and spin.  One leads to another and I drift along.  I do not allow this type of drift very often.  The ache gets uncovered in my heart and my eyes sting and blur.  It is the very reason my photos sit in piles in boxes.  Every so often over the past fifteen years, I have tried to sort through them and get them all organized in albums or something.  But, the ache comes and my eyes sting and blur and I have to stop.

I still love old houses and flowers and houdash ponds and quilts and photos and memories.

 

barn

 

Light and dark.

Sunlight and shadow.

Hope and memory.

Life and love.

 

Expectations

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I always expected life to be more like Norman Rockwell’s paintings.  I figured Mama and I would be cooking dinner and taking all the grandkids off on adventures.  Even now, I keep thinking it will somehow materialize.

I have lingering images from prior to 1978.  That was about when Granny and Granddaddy sold their house and moved to Evadale.  There was something magical about that house.  When we would all get together for Christmas and Easter, it was so glamorous.  My lovely Mother and Daddy’s lovely sisters.  I remember Daddy wearing a suit and tie at Christmas.

Even after that, for almost 20 years till Mama left us, we would get together to have dinner all the time.  Sometimes a few of us, but several times a year a whole bunch of us.  Aunts, uncles, cousins, family friends and all.  Sometimes here at this house, sometimes at Honey Island, sometimes at Saratoga.

I always dreamed of seeing the world.  Between stories of Daddy’s sailing days and Uncle Bo’s RV days, travel was always a dream of mine.  I wanted to be a National Geographic photographer or an anthropologist.  I wanted to be a great painter.  Like Georgia O’Keefe.  Famous while alive and not after I am dead.  I wanted to write a great novel that would be on the recommended reading list for students.

I am not unhappy with my life.  I had to choose between things.  Sometimes there really was no choice.  Love and duty dictated my actions.  I have chosen family and home over other adventures.  Life with my family and him has been an adventure!

But, these days, what choices do I have?  The world is wide open in some ways.  In a few years, God willing, I will be retired and still young enough to make a new path.  What will I do with the rest of my life?  What do I need to do now to prepare for the next book in the series of my adventure on this planet?

I keep looking for inspiration and direction.  I keep hoping for a light bulb type epiphany.  But, I know that sometimes all we get is the next moment, the next hour, today.   So, I am doing today.  And, trying to do it well. Even when it feels like I am stalled.  And I am feeling stalled.

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