Our Real Home

The house is strangely quiet without Grammy and Popa visiting. Of course, I should not complain since we got to keep them here for two extra days (thank you Mother Nature!), but I'm complaining anyway. They live too far away! It's crazy that life has changed radically in just two short generations. People used to stay near their families, not disperse the way the Sweets have.

Let's see...one of us in San Diego, one in North Carolina, one in Kansas City, one in Chicago, and one who moves around depending on where the wildfires are...and yet I would guess that all of us still consider Rapid City, South Dakota as "home." Because that's where Mom and Dad are. Because that's the place we spent our formative years, where most of our "firsts" happened. Because our roots pull us back there as strongly as if we were tethered to the earth in the Black Hills.

When I imagine "home" I visualize one particular house situated on the edge of a golf course with a crazy apple tree in the backyard and deer running through it, unaware of Dad's watchful eye and paint gun pointed in their direction... I think of the clean, slightly pine-scented fresh air, and dark sky and bright stars at night. I remember kicking shoes off at the front door, hanging out in the kitchen and checking drawers and cupboards for snacks, piling onto Mom and Dad's bed to watch the tiny TV and snuggle (or fight for space) on the bed. I imagine holidays with cousins all around, dressing up and acting crazy, inventing games and putting on "shows." All these things were the same when I was little and lived there every day, and now when I visit a couple weeks a year. We have a new batch of kids to do the crazy stuff, and now we're the adults paying admission charges, cheering on the kids' "firsts" and breaking up the inevitable fights. Mom's still taking care of everybody, only now her name is "Grammy." Dad's still staying up too late and dispensing good advice, but now he'll drop anything when he hears a little voice say "Popa!" Even with these changes, it's still home.

Of course, I have a wonderful husband and we are making our home with the boys here in Chicago. I love it here, too, but I still feel that incredible pull back to R.C. Do you feel it?

Being a Sweet means appreciating home. Let's talk about what "home" really means. Go ahead and post!

P.S. If you want to post a response, just click on the link and type away! It's not scary, just try it. xo