As I write this, I am falling asleep in the same room that was my mother's childhood room, my sister'snursery, my nursery, the room where my grandfather died, the room I slept in for all my summer vacations when I was a kid, and the room I would ultimately live in while getting my masters. It used to kind of freak me out that my grandfather died in this room, but now I see it as some type of blessing - he was a great man that I'm proud to be like, and he died peacefully in the house he built.
Clearly, my grandparents were genius, as both bedrooms in the house have giant double closets with a sort of safe room area in the middle. Who else was doing that in the 50's? I like to think they only built one bathroom because they didn't want to shame the neighbors - since not everyone had running water just yet. Or electricity for that matter. And, they were the first ones to get a tv - so they would go on to be pretentious in other ways.
I always thought of this house as small and regular, but as an adult wishing I owned a home of my own, I see how large and well-made it really is. Right now, after a long day of wishing this old house were more modern and friendly to the disabled, it's nice to be still and thankful for what this house really means. That I have a family and a heritage. Not all of us do, or at least not one that we get to know. And even if your family drives you a little nutty at times, it's good to have one.
If you like this post - I highly recommend Sandra McCracken's songs about growing up on a family farm in Indiana. Along the way, they partially inspired this.
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