Day 25-28 Home, Love, and Beauty

The house I grew up in was a gift from my father to all of us. A husband and wife, both in their seventies, both blind, were the previous owners. Every time the social welfare worker came to check on them, they never explored past the front room. That room was never used and looked fine, if dusty. There were closed doors separating that room from the rest of the house. On the other side of those doors, it was squalid. The worst part consisted of a room for their animals. Since this couple never knew when to let their pets outside, their solution was to dedicate an entire room to the animals' toileting needs. Once found out, this couple was removed from their house, and it went up for sale.

My mother learned about it from her neighbor Ivy, and my father immediately looked at it. He bought the house, knowing it would take years to make it livable. He was a plasterer, and at night and on weekends he worked on the house. On Saturdays, a friend came to help with the work. After three years, my family moved in.

The work put into our house was tremendous. My father provided a red- brick front to the house that would burn for eight hours if the house ever caught fire. The bathroom moved from the second floor to the first. There was no way to go from the outside of the house to the back yard. My father built brick steps leading from the driveway to the yard. He also built stone walls in the yard. Inside the house were beautiful hand-scrolled ceilings. We had curved arches between rooms downstairs. He added on the bathroom, pantry, entryway, and the back room we called the porch. He retained the window that used to be outside, so you could look from the dining room to the porch.

My father took that house and made it a home. And it was a very, very, very fine house.



For many years, I spent a lot of time repeating myself to my children. " Close the door." "Eat over your plate." "Where are your shoes?" I didn't just sound like my mother, I sounded like mothers all over. Don't touch that, put it back, no teasing, finish dinner. My younger son introduced me to this song about six years ago. It so perfectly captured what I said every day, I laughed hysterically. My kids and husband laughed. Other moms laughed. I hope you laugh, too.




I was old enough to attend kindergarten the first year my school offered it.
My teacher's name was Miss Daly, and we all thought she was terrific. Miss Daly was young and beautiful, with long red hair and a warm smile. I went every day to sit in my little wooden chair and try not to wriggle while Miss Daly taught us all kinds of new things. I can remember her sitting at the piano, singing and teaching us to sing "Raindrops Keep Falling On my Head."


I stood there in a strange place
Nowhere I'd been before
Looking out at the red dirt mesas
Sniffing the air, inhaling dust

I may as well be in a foreign land
Looking to learn the language
Trying to understand vast and open
After living a life closed tightly

I could have been many more miles
From my home. The usual place
Thirty-five hundred miles away
Even my vacation predictable

Not this time, not this year.
I trusted myself to choose
I planned a trip I wanted
To see the one I loved

Several days in, I stopped
Looked out at the red dirt mesas
Felt sudden freedom
I knew I could be someone else