Home is where my Hearts Are

Coming home to Channing, TX means breathing easier. It means letting go of muscles held that I didn't know were taut. Mama and Daddy's house / home means lawns, gardens, ponds, fountains, work out rooms, antiques and a dog, a parrot and a perpetually pregnant cat. It's the population sign that says 363. (It used to say 365, but in the last 10 years, we've had either two deaths or two folks left. Perhaps I counted? Novel.) Home is being cared for in a way that only an incomparable Mama and Daddy can do: prayer coverings, late night pep talks, highlighting lines, baking, crying, hugging and singing harmony. All my favorite foods are in the fridge and somehow Mama knows a trip to Dillard's junior department is what I've been craving. Saying 'I love you' and wondering what will happen to it all if they were to get sick. It's dismissing that idea as inconceivable. Invincibility comes to mind. My brother agrees with me and we say meaningful words to each other. He's my home too.

Home is walking out west with Daddy at noon when it's 102 degrees and baking white chocolate cream cheese cupcakes and washing dishes with Mama. It's forgetting what day it is and relaxing into the rhythm of being the child again. I let it happen. I fight back on occasion, but only enough to assert a moderate dose of adult recognition.

Sometimes when it's late at night and I don't feel the pressure of rising early, I go walking around 'the big block.' It's our city block that is the town's main drag. Yes, it's as provincial as it sounds, and around 11 PM you may encounter 3 vehicles; either passing and waving, or, at a distance so you wonder, "Who's that hoodlum out so late?" I gander at the massive sky full of bursting stars. It's just so big... There are porch lights on and barking dogs as I make my way around the block. They recognize my presence. The train tracks that divide the town usher in a droning, barrelling train; a sound that characterized my childhood.

And as much as I trust home, the place that I was born and raised, tonight it is frightening to me. There are 363 people in this quiet, tiny town. Crime doesn't exist; my parents know 90% of the town by name. Even still, the vastness of the land and sky and possibility for nature to interrupt the evening in some powerful way broods like a developing thunderstorm in the East. It scares me; the vastness' potential scares me. I see a skunk and I turn down an unexpected road to avoid it. I wake up all the dogs on the street and wonder which ones are fenced in and which ones may run at me. I walk more quickly as shadows at the Court House seem to dance a bit too mysteriously. I chuckle to myself when I consider my folly, but the inexplicable 'fear of the dark' remains.

I remember this same sense when I would visit my childhood best friend. She lived 50 miles out of town on a ranch with no neighbors for miles and miles. We would bathe in the bathroom and there were no curtains; just an open window that peered out into the blackness. Yucca and cows were probably all that saw us, but it terrified me to imagine who might be lurking. (No one ever was lurking, btw. They continue to live there, curtain free, without disturbance.)

It struck me as deeply ironic, however, that this sense of foreboding doesn't really happen to me in NYC. In a city with rampant crime and over 6 million people. Perhaps there are too many people to ever have a sense that something may be lurking. Indeed, something IS lurking, so close your windows and don't expect anything else. There's strange comfort in this. And also peace? Have I gone mad? No, I don't think so. I think the difference is feeling strength in numbers. Alone on an open road with a massive sky full of stars and pastures full of miles and miles of grassland? - Anything could be awaiting me. But in a city with 450 people on your block alone, you have the false sense that you are safe. Or is that just me?

How does a small town country girl who adores her home and family and most everything about her simple rearing also love the dynamism and chaos of the Insomniac Capitol of the world? I amuse myself by contemplating this journey; I don't understand it, but my cells do. My subconscious has this down. Ok, then.

Two homes. Two hearts. Mama and Daddy. My incredible husband Jordan. Here and There. Then and Now.

Either way, the stars are still gorgeous and it's a very good thing to remember the awe inspiring power of that which is created and leave the man-made to it's devices. At least for 5 days.

I love you, home of my youth. I miss you, darling city.