life is transitory and so is "home"...this was home for seven months...and with its drafts and uneven floors and low ceilings and impossibly small kitchen that seemed to be added as an after thought it felt like "home"...now we are really home...have been for twelve days...i can tell...the neighbors haven't budged and there's an internet connection...the cat has reclaimed her territory and resumed her feral ways killing whatever comes to hand...i look out the front window down the alley that's been there since 1987 ( the reason the front drapes stayed closed for twenty-five years )...but it doesn't feel like "home"...it's too new and nothing is as it was...the kitchen is impossibly large...aside from the cabinetry and a few appliances it is empty...there have never been children there asking for cereal or a drink of water...there have never been children there at all...there aren't even ghosts of what was here...i suppose i could look at it as a clean slate to write new history on...but i am weary of history...it could be home one day...and since i own it it will have to be...but that will be some time in coming...i still wake up feeling like i am a guest in someone else's house....still asking "where am i?"
_______________13 september 2015...there has been a child here...many times now...she has been in the kitchen...she doesn't ask for much but she's comfortable here...she knows she belongs...home again.
