I'm not much of a Country music fan....I couldn't tell you the latest and greatest stars and hits. I do know the Miranda Lambert song from which I have entitled this blog post. I like it. You won't hear me listening to it, hardly ever, because it makes me cry....but, it seemed a fitting title for my latest entry. If you know me....I mean, those of you who REALLY know me, you know that I'm an (over) thinker, (over) analyzer, & an (over) feeler. It's who I am. So...of course, I feel some sort of way about what happened this week. I say "some sort of way" because not only does it make me sound cool and nonchalant about it, but it really does describe how I feel. My parents moved out of my childhood home this week & the closing was Friday. Just like that, the house that built me belongs to someone else. Someone very nice, I hear, which makes me very, very happy.
I've spent my week (over) thinking about our home, my childhood, & how - despite the fact that I think most Country music is cheese-tastic (or maybe I'm the cheesy one because I use verbiage such as that term), I do believe that that particular house did help to build me. My parents moved into our home before they even had me....and I'm 38, so you do the math. They grew together there, they learned how to be parents there, we learned how to be a family there. The home itself has gone through a few changes over the years...mainly because you can't have dark paneling and orange shag carpet forever & open floor plans became "the thing". Despite all of the changes that it has gone through & how lovely it was after the last update that included knocking some walls out and having Corian countertops, some built ins, & a gas fireplace added - this is how I still view our home:
Here's me....on a typical Christmas morning - I probably was around 6 years old, if I had to guess. See the big brown boxy TV that everyone had? The orange carpet and curtains? Just behind me was a moss rock fireplace that I loved - but my Dad wouldn't hardly ever let us use because he worked with the Volunteer Fire Department & fireplaces led to bad outcomes. This is the house that built me. These are my memories. Of course, if you are going to become an adult (or a sort of adult - because I moved away to college at the age of 17), there are going to be bad or sad memories - but, as I have (over) looked back this week, I haven't thought of any of them as too horrible - only of things that shaped me as a person, us as a family, our trio. Plus, the good memories outweigh any of the bad.
You see those floors? Those are the floors that I practiced standing back tucks on over & over again until it was perfect. That television? On top of it sat our first VCR - the one where the "remote" had a cord attached to it so you could fast forward through the commercials. We spent time around it as a family. I watched and re-watched as they replayed the Challenger disaster. We watched many an Alabama game in that den. We lived in that den during the huge snowstorm where we got almost a foot of snow. I can practically taste the yummy food that we made on a makeshift stove when the power was out, thanks to my Mother. Our Christmas tree was in that den almost every year - even the year that my Mom and I were obsessed with birds & we made ornaments out of tulle and birdseed and had random fake doves shoved in the tree. Oh what memories of Santa coming and me running in there to see what goodies I had gotten. I had many a childhood illness in that den - chicken pox, flu, stomach viruses....and I laid on that couch after having my wisdom teeth removed. That back door, on which a teenage boy, my very first date, knocked. That back porch, where I had birthday parties, high school sorority shindigs, & where my Mom & Dad would diligently clean the concrete with Spic-N-Span. Y'all remember that cleaner? I can still smell it. My swingset was in that backyard. My trampoline was back there - where my friends and I jumped, made up routines, tumbled, & worked on our jumps until we were pleasantly tired or scared away by the large St Bernard that lived up the street. My Dad's workshop - where he lovingly made pieces of furniture that have been in every home that Jimmy and I have had as a married couple. My rope swing was back there, my Dad made it & I loved it. Not just for swinging, sometimes I sat there and read and listened to my ghetto blaster playing Beastie Boys "Licensed to Ill" - until my parents realized it said "damn" & talked about drinking beer. Ha ha.
Our kitchen. My Mother created her amazing pound cakes there. Y'all know my Mom is an awesome cook. She said she didn't know how to cook before she married...so, I know a lot of her expertise was learned in that kitchen. She made me milk with food coloring in that kitchen when I was a kid, so I would drink milk. We made Hardee's biscuits on Saturdays in that kitchen, which cartoons were playing on TV. Saturday night growing up was the night to grill steaks. My grandmother would come eat with us & sometimes I would have a friend over. My Mom made salads. In that kitchen was where I opened the mail that announced my acceptance to University of Alabama and later to graduate school at University of Montevallo. I've played a zillion games of Yahtzee on hot summer nights with my then boyfriend, now husband at that bar while we listened to the scanner where you could hear people's cordless phone conversations & you could know where the next ambulance was headed. He lived with my parents for several months while working a job near their home. The orange rotary dial phone was in that kitchen - the one where Santa called me to tell me that he was bringing me a daybed, but it was too big to be set up, so it would have to be done by my parents later.
Our dining room had a chandelier in it when I was a little girl. My Mom used to take down all of the crystals & I would hold them up to my ears and pretend like I was wearing fancy dangling earrings. I remember her cleaning them. I remember my Mom using that table to sit and balance the checkbook. I remember her typing papers for my uncle when he was in college while sitting at that table. We had refreshments and cake on that table when I graduated from High School and again from College. My fondest memory of the dining room was when Jimmy told me he loved me for the first time. We were sitting on the (hideous) carpet and it was late at night. I remember it like it was yesterday. Adjoining to the dining room was the living room. I practiced piano in there (obviously not enough, because today I suck and can't play). I remember door-to-door vacuum salesmen coming to our home and trying to see us crap in that room. Our very first computer (Commodore 64C) sat in the living room at a desk for a while. I was a writer even then. I would sit at the computer and compose stories about princesses & animals. No memory compares to the one that occurred while I was laying on the horrendous green couch in the living room. I was alone and I was seven years old. It was there that I accepted Jesus Christ as my Savior. My babysitter was in the other room. It was just me and God. I remember being so excited to share with my parents when they arrived home that night & how I felt like something huge had happened in my life.
The hallway closet was our saving grace a few times. It served as our tornado shelter. One night, in particular, it got bad. My Dad is the typical Southern guy...you know, if there's a tornado coming, you go out on your porch! I mean, what else is there to do? Check it out for yourself! He always would say "aw, we'll be aight" or "its gonna be a little North of us". Well, this night, he said "get in the closet". Pretty scary words when you're a little kid. It was loud in there, we were smushed like sardines. My dad had a radio on to listen to the weather & an old 70s song was playing. Even then, I thought, 'seriously? where's the weather report?'. Did I mention that it was loud? Kinda sounded like a freight train (so cliche, huh?) When we emerged, it was pretty obvious that the tornado went through our front yard. We even had to spend the night somewhere for a couple of nights after that....but we were safe.
My mom taught me how to put on eyeshadow in that bathroom. She taught me how to use a water pik & how to wash my face. She re-fixed my hair for prom after the redneck lady jacked it up and I cried... this may have happened more than one year. I put my makeup on at that counter as I prepared to walk in graduation for my Master's degree. I used to sit on the counter and put my feet in the sink and talk to her as she got ready for work during the summers when I was old enough to stay home alone. She kept my pink foam rollers in a basket in the cabinet under the sink in that bathroom & she would roll my hair when I was a little girl using them. I used to wear my bathing suit and pretend like I was swimming in the bathtub when it was hot outside & there was no where for me to go swimming.
My bedroom holds all kind of secrets - like most bedrooms where teenage girls were raised do. I was a little girl in that bedroom, playing school with intercoms, playing Parisians (old school, huh?). The white paneling walls of my childhood held taped posters of a young girl beginning to like boys - the safe ones - you know Jon Bon Jovi, Michael J Fox, Corey Haim, Corey Feldman, Ralph Macchio, New Kids on the Block. As a Mom, I know that my Mother probably wanted to kill me for the tape on her walls, but as a former kid, it was amazing :) I cried in my room over mean girls, stupid things, & stupid people. I declared (more than once) in there that my parents were "ruining my life" or "just didn't understand". I was in my room when I received phone calls telling me of the deaths of a few close friends - one of which was one of my very best friends. I mourned some personal failures in that room....but I also celebrated personal victories in there as well. I remember talking on one side of my Swatch phone while my bff talked on the other side and we talked to folks way later than we should've. We watched cheerleading championships and gymnastics that we had recorded over and over and over in that room. I spent the night in my childhood room the night before my wedding. Not surprisingly, I (over) thought it and cried - not for sadness, but excitement and happiness....and because I'm an idiot and read the Nicholas Sparks book "A Walk to Remember".
Our home now belongs to someone else....and it's okay. You can see that I have so much happy in that home. God gave our trio something special. I feel blessed to have had such a steady, loving home. I feel proud that my parents had bedtime devotionals with me in their bedroom for years and years as I was growing up. I always walked into that home knowing what it would feel like. It would feel like a huge hug, a sigh of relief, comfortable - it would feel like love. I walked into that home for the last time at the beginning of the month & nothing was different. Everything was different, really, but then again, nothing was. I think one of the biggest gifts that we, as parents can give to our children, is stability, love, and for them to know that when they return home from where ever they have been that day, that they will walk into a calm, safe place that is surrounded by the love of a family and the love of Christ. My parents succeeded in that. They didn't do it alone. I know they prayed a lot. Especially for me, when I was going through hard times, & for each other - because you do not get a marriage like theirs without the Lord. They made that house at 8113 Cowley Circle a home for almost 40 years. A beautiful home. It wasn't large by the world's viewpoint - but by the standards of God and of the hearts of those that it touched - it was a mansion. So, thank you Mom & Dad - thank you for being you and for loving not only me, but every friend that I ever brought into that home - because I know that they felt it when they were there, too. I'm glad that my precious husband and our baby girls got time to play there and enjoy the love in your home, too. You did good.
Because I began it with a song title....I'm going to end it with a lyric - the other one that has been in my head all week, because I tend to (over) think & (over) analyze until I get completely sad. There's no sadness - you should never be sad for memories and things that have passed. You should smile because God allowed you to have all of them....and in the words of Semisonic's "Closing Time" - Every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end. To say that I'm excited for our new beginning would be an understatement! Just a couple of months til Mom and Dad hit our town!! Woot woot!! Now, does anyone local wanna be their friends?? :)
