Chapter 1
I’m 42 now and the summer windstorms in Boise are something I still miss. I danced around our yard with the thick grass smooshed between my toes. I could sing as loud as I wanted and my voice would carry on the wind. The air was warm and there was a beautiful energy to it. The home that I spent most of my growing up years was a three story home on an acre of flat land. When we moved there I was seven and my parents would stay there until I was in my late 30’s. We spent Saturdays gardening, fixing up the lawn, building the various decks that would dress the backyard. My dad brought in sand and made a huge sand area that eventually housed a homemade tree house, with a slide that was so steep, every time you went down you wouldn’t know if you would skid out on your rear end a couple of feet or tumble forward.
We built a metal shed, fire pit, volleyball court and eventually a beautiful shop, where my Grandpa would do his leatherworking. My dad did everything himself (I mean didn’t hire out at all), and in my eyes he could do anything. I spent hours by his side, handing him tools and holding one end of the measuring tape. There were work projects inside of our home too. The night before we would smash a wall out with our hammers we got to draw all over the wall. The next day we would wake up to some sort of encouraging music, a good breakfast and then we would get to work.
We painted, scraped popcorn off the ceilings, replaced cabinets and about everything else you can think of. After quite a few years my dad ended up adding an addition onto our home, where his parents would finish their time on earth. This meant a lot of other projects and provided an amazing opportunity to get to know my Carlson grandparents better.
Why doesn’t family live close together, like it used to be? I think it should be that way.
Years later, when my parents sold the home, I wondered if it hurt so bad because we had put so much into that home. We had all the sweet family memories too, the home really felt like it was part of our family. When I walked through their home for the last time, the emotions came flooding in. Years of so many sweet memories and hard work, had all made this a beautiful home. I was surprised that the selling their home was as hard as it was.
My neighborhood had wide streets and familiar faces. Around fourteen years old I loved to walk circles around my neighborhood with my sweet friend in the late night. Jen lived just around the block, and her and I would walk for hours and talk about all the mysteries of life :), because of course we knew all the mysteries of life. I don’t think I could ever count how many late night walks we went on, and definitely not how many hours we spent on those walks. After we circled our neighborhood multiple times we would end up standing by her car and just talking for so long. My mom would flicker the front porch light, to signal me to come in and her to go home. It was just so hard to end our conversations. Anne of Green Gables has the best description, she was a bosom friend and I’m so grateful we found each other. After we graduated and went to college and off on our different ways, every once and a while, we would end up in Boise on the same weekend. If that happened we would never let the weekend pass without at least one reminiscent late night walk to catch up on all the things. Even after so many years had passed, my mom would still flicker on and off the lights when our walks would run us late into the night. All three of us thought that was awesome and got a laugh out of it. It was in Jen’s car I learned how to drive a stick shift. Circling the neighborhood and countless church parking lots. Jen would be a dear friend forever, a sort of an anchor for me.
That's all for tonight. I'm tired. My mind is still and my heart is...I don't even know. Goodnight
No comments:
Post a Comment