Ruby Slippers

Posted: 3 June 2006 in observations, other folks
Tags: ,

Visiting my parents in a house I’ve never lived in, I find my eyes search the walls for familiar pieces, rubbing over talismans of home.  They are between houses, living in a temporary, small, house while they wait for retirement and to move into a sprawling house three states away.  You can tell what is important to them, what they, too, look for to describe home.  The cuckoo clock with heavy brass pinecone weights that is never wound; the bookcase of old books – Tom Sawyer, Alice in Wonderland, Litle Women; dusty framed photos of grandmothers and nieces and daughters and sisters; an entertainment center so big it eclipses the room, but still looks like it belongs, tan wood blending with the wooden ceiling and walls; a picnic table my father built when I was small, the same one that I stood on when I learned to walk on the stilts he built for me; and the cement bench with a mosaic of colored glass sunk beautifully into the seat.  I can’t imagine my family without these things.  It’s somehow comforting to know that they can’t imagine themselves without them either.  


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