The Simple Things in Life

What a great day! Despite an early rise (4:45am), Dawson and I had a wonderful day. Nothing that would appear to be out of the ordinary, normal things, but today was special. We spent the day with my grandma. We sat on her front porch and blew bubbles watching the wind carry them off into the sky. It was sprinkling on and off, but the bubbles continued. We each took turns with the bubble gun seeing who could make a bubble go the farthest. Dawson stood below the porch and swatted a few trying not to let anyone beat him out - thus far he had the bubble that was winning. The day was like spending it with my mother. I see where all the mannerisms come from - they are so much alike. In their words, in their sillyness, in their reactions, in their creativity. I loved it. My grandmother thinks that she needs to "entertain" us when we come visit. Little does she know how much Dawson enjoys playing with Uncle Doug, watching the cartoon channel for a change, and just plain ole vegging on the couch. And me, I could just sit in quiet and watch grandma for hours. She putters. She browses the yard like she knows every single piece of grass blade and where it goes. She has sat on that front porch many times. Come to think of it, we are ending another decade this year - which means more than 50 years in that house of hers. Although now it is painted a seabreeze green, the yard arranged slightly different, a fence now around the perimeter, a carport where there was just open sky - through all the changes, grandma still sits on the porch and enjoys the goings and comings of those around her.

I thought about that all the way home. Why do I find it so difficult to find my porch? I always believed home is where the heart is. But sometimes I dream about my own home and the garden that I would create. The rose bushes and lillies that I browse each day surrounding my own yard. A place where we might have a trampoline or a swing set. A gazebo for resting. Perhaps even a pond with a trinkling waterfall. A place where the smell of fresh cut grass draws you in.

I can't wait to have a home. Not only where I hang my hat each day, but the place Dawson takes his kids and grandkids too one day to tell them, that's where he grew up. The place that he drives by and smiles at all the fond memories of bike riding, pulling weeds, visions of his mother tending the garden, the sweat he poured mowing the lawn summer after summer. Even that lemonade stand he once had. If there is any motivation than that - to build those memories with him in our own place where happiness reigns - it'll someday be our place we call home.