It has taken me a while to get over my fear of creating a home.
Home is a motif that has reverberated throughout my life. I have lost “home” more than once. The fear of losing it again is a hard thing to overcome. I wandered the globe for a few years in order to avoid attachments to people and places and things.
But we’ve been on this little bayou for over a year now. I feel roots growing. I bought a new sewing machine last week. It’s time to jump into home again. I’m excited.
In the dining room, I’ve stored away the cut glass of winter and taken out my Old Leeds Spray china – very springlike. (And there’s a story behind that, but it will have to wait for another day.)
I’ve also unpacked my French Quarter house canisters. This set is one of the few things from my wedding shower that Katrina didn’t clobber. They were a gift from my mom.
As I look upon these feminine touches of home, strangely, I’m not nervous anymore. My mind knows that things come and things go. My heart tells me that I had a home even when I didn’t have a house and junk to fill it.