Houses and homes
There are boxes, cartons and packaging material lying all around my home at present. Yes, we are moving. From my current home to a new house. Everyone at home appears to be hassled by so much stuff on the floor. Even my 13-year-old seems frustrated when he walks with me and accidently brushes his foot against one of the boxes. He makes a hurtful expression at first then supposedly an angry one later on for all the trouble.
Surprisingly, I do not seem to mind any of this discomfort. Maybe because I am not seeing any of that stuff. All I see are the memories. Memories that are present in every inch and corner of my home. Memories of all the parties and fun we had, of all the beautiful moments, of all the get-togethers.
When I go to the front room, I remember coming to the U.S. for the first time; all anxious and skeptical about the new life here. Here on this window sill, I have spent so many early afternoons watching snow melting to spring and finally summer. I recollect sitting here promptly at 3:30 every afternoon, waiting for my son’s school bus to arrive. I loved seeing the school bus approaching from the corner, bringing my little angel back from school.
When I see the table in the dining room, I have fond memories of my dad sitting in the farthest chair along with his morning and evening tea. He used to enjoy the outside views with his sips from the cup. For so many days after my parents left, I secretly used to sit in that chair only to feel the warmth of sitting on my dad’s lap with his arms surrounding me; and all the worries of the world used to vanish into thin air.
I go to the sun room and remember all the evenings my hubby and I enjoyed there. Some loud evenings with meals and party songs on the TV along with my super loud son. Some quiet evenings with a glass of wine in hand and a romantic movie on the TV. All enjoyable, beautiful and cherishable evenings.
I see flower buds just beginning to bloom outside and recollect how we used to admire the big white-and-red flowers and had taken so many pictures with them. I still have those spring clicks somewhere on my computer. I am still surprised at how they all vanish when snow comes and suddenly appear in spring to such a full bloom.
There were similar boxes on floor with all the chaos when we were moving into this house three years back. All of its corners and walls were new to me back then. Nothing was familiar, nothing was known. Now every corner has a story, every wall has a tale.
That’s when I realized: It is never the lamps, the paintings, the murals, the decor that make a home. It is the memories that change a house to a home. Now as I plan to shift to my new house, its walls and corners will be unfamiliar to me. The stuff will be the same, but there will be no memories. Hopefully with time, I will create beautiful memories in this new house. Then this unfamiliar structure with all my stuff will become my home.
Soon I will start the moving process. I will shift all the possessions, decorate the walls and corners to my taste, and will just wait then. Waiting for all the moments to be made and memories to be created. I might change my address the day I move into the new house, but my home will change only after those memories are crafted. Eventually, memories are what will change this house to my home.
I am 40 year old and a mother of 11year old special kid . Have done matters In computer science and used To work As a software consultant back in India. We have moved To Cleveland 3 years back from from India. I loved Cleveland the moment moment I landed here . Always wanted To live In such a city . Love WestLake area .