Homes

I rescued a turtle on the way to work yesterday morning.  Well... I think I rescued it.  Lets say it was walking toward the verge of a busy road and I picked it up and carried it across said busy road and into the field on the other side.  If the turtle meant to cross the road, then I quite possibly rescued it from a crushing fate.  If, however, it was just going for a stroll along the roadside, with every intention of returning whence it came soon... then I abducted it and stranded it in a faraway foreign place.

My experience with turtles on the move is that they tend to continue in a straight line in the direction they are headed. This time of year they all seem to get some dogged idea in their head that they must mogate... THIS way... and off they go. So my sense of the situation is that he/she/it would have continued directly into harms way without my valiant intervention.

That was my little bit of heroism for the day.

Now, talking about homes... I have been thinking a lot about homes lately.

After the debacle of my house-hunt this winter, I have tried not to think too much about buying a house.  Everything happens for a reason, right?  (Okay, I don't really believe that, but it's something of a comfort when you are handed a big disappointment)... so I'm probably meant to find the Perfect Home sometime Later.

However, last week my current landlord called to let me know that they are planning on selling the house I'm presently renting, and would I be interested in buying?

Well, yes and no.  Yes, if the price is right, it's a great little house.  But then if I was able to choose from several available houses, would I necessarily choose this one?  Maybe not. It has a terrific back yard full of mature trees, but it's a little small (no room for a pool or trampoline, really), and it would be nice to have a spacious second living area...

What is it about owning a home?  Why do I feel so driven to own one?  If I purchase the house I'm living in tonight, tomorrow will be exactly as it would have been otherwise. And yet there's something very appealing about the idea of owning it... or any house. I want to come home to something that is mine.  I want to be able to put my time, energy and sweat into it and turn it into the true home I feel I'm longing for.

In truth, I suppose my home is where my family is:  my boy, my dogs... I suppose, like the turtle, I carry my "home" with me.  I think what I'm hungry for is stability and family.  It's one of the things that I love about John. He feels permanent. He feels like family. That's a rare and wonderful thing. Family means you are loved just the way you are. Family means you can let it all hang out. Family means someone has your back, will work at your side, support you when you're down, celebrate with you and commiserate with you. Family means your safe and taken care of and, most importantly, you are never ever ever alone. I have so missed that feeling.

For nearly four years Grayson has been my family. Yes, I have parents and extended family who love and support me. But my core every-day family was just me and G. It felt like a tight little knot of love. It felt like we were protecting ourselves from the world and muddling by as best we could. We didn't let anyone else in.

Now John has strolled into our lives and we opened up for him like a flower.  It wasn't just me, it was Grayson, too.  He also seems to feel at home and comfortable in John's presence. We all snuggle in bed together on Sunday mornings when John stays over.

John's my Peter Pan, I guess.  Do you remember?  In Peter Pan, Mrs. Darling has a kiss in the corner of her mouth that Mr. Darling has tried and tried to get, ever since he met her, without success.

"Her romantic mind was like the tiny boxes, one within the other, that come from the puzzling East, however many you discover there is always one more; and her sweet mocking mouth had one kiss on it that Wendy could never get, though there it was, perfectly conspicuous in the right-hand corner. 

 The way Mr. Darling won her was this: the many gentlemen who had been boys when she was a girl discovered simultaneously that they loved her, and they all ran to her house to propose to her except Mr. Darling, who took a cab and nipped in first, and so he got her. He got all of her, except the innermost box and the kiss. He never knew about the box, and in time he gave up trying for the kiss."

But then at the end, when Peter brings Wendy home and flies away,  "He took Mrs. Darling's kiss with him. The kiss that had been for no one else, Peter took quite easily. Funny. But she seemed satisfied."

I think John got my kiss.
And that's what home is really about.