I read the assignment for my latest Writing 101 post this morning before work, and therefore spent a good portion of the day thinking about it. It’s not unusual. I frequently find myself fantasizing about being transported out of the office. Well typically it’s less transported and more like running out of there, jumping in my car and pointing it towards…

Home. Our house which is exactly 2.7 miles  from work. It’s a 10 minute commute give or take. Traffic can be an issue as I have to drive straight through a college campus teeming with activity as students vie for the perfect parking spot, dart across the road when running late for class or saunter across when chatting with friends.

As I drive home, I am literally bouncing with excitement. I feel like a caged animal that has been released, and is following the scent home. My car radio isn’t working so I hum to myself and anticipate the moment that I walk through the back door of our house and shut the world out. Always gently because I don’t want to disturb our upstairs neighbor.

We live in a rental duplex in the downstairs unit. I’m not sure why I’m so concerned with maintaining quiet as our upstairs neighbor is either
a) really into cleaning and moving her furniture around daily
b) the owner of a bowling alley
c) a skipping maniac

No matter though. It’s one of the quirks of our home.

As I zoom down the steep driveway (quite honestly probably too fast but I am so excited), the tension in my body starts to release. Ahhhhhhhhhh. I’m greeted by our two seater vintage wooden fold-up chair that never fails to make me smile. It is just so freakin cute and perfect. And it makes me laugh thinking of how we didn’t really need it, but I put on my puppy dog face at the store and now it is ours and gives our backyard some major flair in my opinion.

Once inside and safely ensconced in our cozy home, I take a deep breath. Time to just be. Of course that is much better accomplished with some sweats so I head to the bedroom for the switch. I’m greeted by a laundry pile, my nightstand overflowing with books, an unmade bed and a whirlwind of scattered items courtesy of two people running very late for work, but hey that’s us. The dressers we refinished together somehow go perfectly with the nightstands I purchased from Wayfair, and that always gives me a thrill. I mean, you really just don’t know how that sort of thing will work out sometimes. This room makes me happy in its perfect chaos.

I wander into the kitchen for a bit of chores. I missed another smoothie splatter and dishes need to be done. Time slows down, and I flit around straightening the kitchen. I’m moving fast, but inside I’m calm. Returning our kitchen to order after last night’s culinary adventure and the morning’s hectic grab what you can and go, brings me peace.

I’m now ready for my perch on the couch where the cushion is perfectly indented from me. I’ve spent many nights curled-up here watching Jeopardy, writing, chatting, eating, drinking and entertaining guests. Secure in the throne of our kingdom. The vintage wooden dining table we inherited from Garett’s mom whispers memories of past and future dinner parties from across the room. The feminine pillows I picked to brighten the tan corduroy couch and compliment our teal shabby chic flea market tables are balanced by the metal and brown leather speckled chairs that Garett chose.

The fireplace is stained with soot and the walls are shedding. The light outside is haunted and the front door takes a special knack to lock. But there is a Harry Potter cupboard under the stairs and courtyard with stone walls tangled in ivy. There is the trellis that we built together for our hops plant and our Harris Teeter rockers that make the perfect seats on the front porch.

And most importantly there is us past, present and future. There are the family heirlooms that take their place of honor in our house. My great-grandmother’s afghan tossed across the sofa, the tea tin from Garett’s English grandmother adding character to the kitchen, the silver pitcher that’s the perfect flower vase. There’s the plastic snake from my Medusa Halloween costume still lurking in the bathroom waiting to scare guests. There’s the game of Risk peeking out from under the coffee table that is always beckoning us to battle for world domination and to enjoy a late night of too much fun. It’s the framed picture of my hometown that my best friend gave me and the abundance of martini glasses in the thrift store hutch. They are all a part of why I walk in this house, it puts its arms around me and I feel the love.