Home

Sometimes, I like to pretend that I am a guest in my own home. I like to look around, and make believe that this is the first time that I have ever been at this house. I don't know the people who live in it. I am looking around at everything, taking it all in. I notice the wall colors, and that there are nice hardwood floors. I see lots of plants. Perhaps the person who owns this home is a gardener. A nurturer. I see toys. The home seems to have a lot. Children. More than a few, this I can see. I see books, and artwork. Comforable chairs and couches. Fluffy pillows, and small lamps. I see spices in the kitchen. There is a pot rack, and collections of bowls. Different sets of china, and glasses. Cloth napkins, and lovely serving platters.  The people who live here listen to music, and enjoy photography. This I can see. Record collections, and black and white images arranged neatly in frames.  They own books, and enjoy movies. From my small observations, I see they have varied interests. This is a home, not just a house. Nothing matches, yet it all works together. It seems all, cohesive. It seems real. 
This is what I would like people to see. Maybe they walk into my home, and think, this place is a mess. The furniture looks like it is from a garage sale. (they would be partially right) Maybe they would think that it looks like a preschool, cluttered with toys. (again...right) Maybe they would see the rips on the pillows, or the slipcover disguising the couch from my childhood. Maybe they would feel this is a place that they could never call home.
I left NYC, in 2000. All of my belongings fit into a van. Mostly clothes and shoes. A futon, and of course, my 12 wine glasses. All stuffed into David's friend, Craig's van. My butter dish tightly packed safely away, awaiting a better day. Waiting for my "real life", my grown up life, to begin.
If I could have looked into the future, I would have seen a mantel with bird votives and a ceramic castle made by my daughter. I would have noticed the wedding album, and seen the small hospital bracelets worn by my babies, in the bottom of a kitchen canister. Sea monkeys in a platic tank, on my childs armoire. Sparkly shoes worn bare. Hats, and gloves, all without a match. Class pictures, and my husbands baseball books. His record collection, so varied, and so loved. Clutter. Lots of it. Dolls, and blocks. A salt and pepper shaker set, that looks like an Italian pizza man. Birthday party invitations, and small love notes, from beings created by our love.
If I were the person looking around my home for the first time, I would be envious.