Parke Circle

Sunday after grandma's viewing, we drove by grandma's old house. I dream of this home all the time and have missed it dearly since we sold it in 2004. I knew that once grandma passed away, I would want to go back, and since the funeral home was on that side of town, I knew it was a perfect opportunity.

I decided to get brave and knock on the door to ask if I could take a few pictures of the front. Well, my cousin ended up answering the door, and it turns out pretty much everyone else in our family had the same idea (all unplanned)! The sweet owner was so generous and welcomed us in and took us all on a tour. I was in tears before I even stepped inside. The home still had that same sweet feeling, and while a lot had changed (it looked so nice!), it all felt perfect. Grandpa's office is now a baby's room and as we were all talking and reminiscing, it was mentioned how wonderful it is to see a young little family loving this old home where we spent so many years growing up.

Life moves on in circles, it seems. And as we were saying goodbye to our grandma, our new friend Sharla was bouncing her pudgy five month-old baby boy. I cried a lot that evening. In the front room, in the kitchen, by the backyard screen door, and especially when I saw our big, tall trees and the purple hyacinths in the front. It was all so good for my heart.

And talk about the kindness of a stranger. Sharla didn't know our family at all, but she even made the effort to come to grandma's funeral the next morning. I was so touched by her sweetness. She'll never know how much that night meant to me!

She said

idaho is calling you home.

One evening last summer there was something I went searching to find. And while I was standing alone on sweet, familiar ground, I could not believe the time that had passed, and that there I was, feeling so changed.



I’ve thought about that night, about feeling alone, and older. I’ve thought about the things I’ve learned since then, and now, and how we can't just stand still. And how nothing can ever stay same, even when it’s the very thing we long for.


In a few weeks, dear friend, you’ll be married. And it so makes me smile. I look at the face of your sweet bride and hope she knows the very best parts of you. Hope she knows the things I think you’ll always love. The night sky, a fiery sunrise, turning the pages of good books, and good music. I hope she knows where you’ve been, where you’ve come from, and all the things that used to move you. (They moved us all.)


The truth is, (and I hope you all know), I remember.


I know years ago, I went moving on. And while sweet are the things I call mine now, the truth is I do look back. And those things I see are sweet too.

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To JM and the other boys I'll always love.

Just because.

This picture needs to be posted because it's summer... 

Because I've been longing to go camping...

And because I am the mother of two sons that look just like their father...

who just may have been the cutest little boy I've ever seen. Oh my goodness. 

{Jared in 1988-ish}

(I am a bird.)

The summer mint has been cut, which means there are only traces of it wilting in the fields and those traces, they linger, and I can tell just how swell it smells (like heaven) right before the sun sets. Sometimes when I'm here, I think I'm still a girl. Ben Folds says it hurts to grow up. And we never do it all at once.

Which means, for me, that my heart breaks a little each time I come (here).

My grandma is ninety-two and I hugged her puffy white hair today as she sat way low in her wheel chair. She told me if she had known I was coming, she would've made a cake. Which made me giggle. Then smile. Then tear up because my grandma lives in a rest home and hasn't owned her own stove for six years now.

Tonight, I can hear Cathy Ernshaw say, "I wish I was a girl again."

I wonder what my grandma wishes. I wonder if her heart breaks and mends like mine.

That seems to be how things go.
Breaking, mending.

Mine almost always mends itself during the moments when I can see myself in my child. Incredible moments. Miraculous, even. Moments that seem to remind me that because I have him, and because he is mine, I have ties to magic forever. And whenever I feel too old, I have to remind myself, (or, he reminds me), that life is full.

And it evolves. And changes.

And it makes my grandma nod in disbelief that she's had nintey-two years that she's spent and tucked away, and sixty-seven great grandchildren to prove it.

And while she spends her afternoons drifting, Morgan's little toes are alive and his eyes are dancing.
And I'm dizzied and holding my breath, wishing time would linger. Longer. For a while.

Still,
the years go on.

For grandma, for Morgan. For me.


And we're still fighting it.

We're still fighting it. 

You're so much like me. (I love you.)

7:21am.

For as long as I live,

all members of my family

will always be welcome 

to saturday morning snuggling

in our bed.

It's a place of warmth, laughter, tickling, and growling tummies.

Ever was it so growing up, and so shall it be forever and ever!

PS - think you ever get too old to snuggle with your parents?

I don't. Still do it every time

I go home.