Thursday, July 16, 2009


I haven’t pinpointed the why of it but writing has been hard here. At the end of the day I don’t have something just itching to get out of my brain. I wonder if it’s being here or just not being home. Things definitely are different here. It could be that.

Being at my parent’s house (what I call Home 1.0) brings out the lazy in me. If I’m not paying careful attention (and when am I ever doing that?) laundry is miraculously washed and folded, beds are made, shopping is done, meals are prepared. I have to put special effort into doing anything at all. I never had to do much when I was an actual resident here and I guess I just revert back into that mode. When I’m here all I want to do is nothing. And maybe watch t.v. It’s so hard to be a grown up.

If we’re here for more than a weekend, I’m always in for a day or two of readjustment. Unpacking seems monumental. Meals are herculean tasks. Sorting the mail, cleaning out the van, mowing the lawn, oh, it’s too much. In a day or so I’m back to taking it all on but man it’s hard at first.

I invited Brooks and his family for dinner tonight and had it all planned out. I was going to roast a pork loin with herbs and some potatoes right out of the garden, some salads, Mindy’s birthday cake, a pie with berries I picked myself. This is something I could have handled, would have handled in Richland where I’m a grown up. Here, my mom swooped in and prepared the main course while I was puttering around frosting a cake. When they arrived she did everything and I sort of just watched. I offered to help but she wouldn’t have it.

Sometimes I think about the future (but not as often as I should) and wonder if I will be like that when my kids come to visit. I’d like to think I will but it just doesn’t have that ring of truth to it. I think I’ll still be bugging them to give me a hand and ignoring dishes for a game of Phase 10.
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