home

So, my parents are moving from my childhood home in a month. Adam and I were in Cedar Rapids for the weekend, and it is probably the last time I will ever be in that house, at least when it feels like home. I didn't really know what to think when I left yesterday. I tried to take a minute to look around and soak it all in. I'm kind of glad I won't be there when it's all boxed up. I think that would be sad. I was thinking as I walked upstairs in the dark Saturday night when everyone else was asleep (you weren't home yet) how I have the space memorized. I know where to walk around the coffee table, how to feel my way up the stairs and reach around the corner to turn on the bathroom light. When I lived in the attic I could make my way from the bathroom, through Karen's room and up the stairs with my eyes closed. And the tree in the backyard is just starting to turn that luminous gold color that fills the attic with a soft glow and air with a crisp scent. How many years did we rake those leaves, jumping in the piles dad would make on a sheet before dragging them down the driveway to the street. And how many hours did we spend on the driveway, playing horse and shooting free throws. riding our bikes up and down the hill, down the sidewalk, around the corner and back home, making one last loop before it was time to go to bed. I remember bake sales and kool aid stands, garage sales and picnics. first dates and first kisses. I could go on and on. But I'll stop for now.

andrea