53 days

Times: they are a changin'.

I'm making preparations to leave the Sideways House - the place that I have come home to for the past 5 years. I'm saying goodbye to the soaring ceiling that was created for music to wrap around and the cozy loft where I have looked down like a queen over court - over laughter and arguments, over snow falling on patio pine backlit like a glorious stage, over an ever-changing color scheme and cast of characters. The funky rug and the hi-fi and even that green deco chair that I swear is cursed. My kitchen the size of a shoebox and my tangerine glow bedroom complete with mood lighting built as a father-daughter project one weekend when I was trying to reclaim my space after a just-snuffed love left smoke in the air. My hammock below starry skies with labrador under. My retro gliding porch furniture with chameleon peeling paint. My crooked vintage album wall of art - that will be gone too. Corridors of memories and windows lit with fewer tomorrows stare back at me as I for the first time consider terms such as "curb appeal" and "resale value" and count the days.

53 days. That's how many.

My mind won't give up claim to the place. I wonder if the new people will paint over all of my happy colors with some color called "Magnolia" or "Buff". I wonder if they will stand on my checkerboard kitchen floor, shake their heads and put that on the top of their list of things to cover up.

Will they get it?

Will they gut it?

There have been times in the past little while that I have felt like doing an all out, glorified impersonation of Scarlett for her Tara. Face it. I'm not ready to leave. I love it here. I thrive here. I smile here. This is my home. My first real home in forever.

There have been other days when I must have envisioned myself living in a Judy Garland/Mickey Rooney movie - I kept waiting on a truck to pull up loaded with friends who'd yell, "Hey kids! Let put on a show! We'll show them! We'll save the Sideways House!!"

But, it's time for reality.

Maybe it is time to leave. Comfort breeds boredom - or that's what that fortune cookie slip on my refrigerator says anyway.

No doubt, I am probably going to be moody and sad for the next few months. No doubt, I will find a new place in the world and in time this one will only be a memory to me. That still doesn't mean that I can't mourn the passing. That I can't ask people to repeat themselves because I was staring off into space or into a well-lit room perfect for much more living in. I realize in theory that this is just a place. A place full of things. I try to repeat that to myself over and over these days. Each day when I pull out of my driveway, I try to imagine that it is my last time. I haven't been able to do it yet without at least a little lump in my throat.

Someone said to me, "It's not a house that makes a home. It's what you do there that makes it a home. The minute you leave, it is no longer your home."

Uh uh...see...they don't get it. Your home really is where your heart is.

My heart is here. Here in this drafty old house put together with left-over pieces from bigger and better houses. Here in the swirl of the surround-sound issuing Sam Cooke like a medical prescription. Here in the glow of that red paper lamp that sits in the front window beside black and white tuxedo cat with an eye on the world. Here on the stairwell where Summer dresses gave way to Winter wool again and again and this time for the last time. Here in that bathtub where I spent a Valentine's day with Jack Daniels and a fist full of melting valentine's candy. Here is where my heart is. Here and there. There against the front door that was slammed to punctuate points and where sweet goodnight kisses took place behind sleepy, electric eyelids. There where the Christmas tree stood and came crashing down shattered glass to wood under the weight of an enthusiastic, yuletide tabby cat. There where my foot marks smudge the wall from languid long-distance phone conversations. There in that skylight window where I watched the waxing moon, lying on my back as time passed like a hearse. There is where my heart is. There and here.

Here is where my heart is.