They say your home is where your mother lives.
I don’t really like my mother’s house that much because she has turned it into my great grandmother's house who lived in Bokchita Oklahoma in the house where my mother was born.
That could explain why her house is like that. She loved it and has re-created it.
This song spoke to my heart.
Maybe because like my children, my heart is searching for my home. I feel too young for my home..this home I live in, to be it. I need to have a home where I came from.
Divorce is hard. And being "homeless" is an effect of divorce.
Where my kids were raised is not where I live.
Where I was raised is not where my parents live.
But still…only blocks from where I now live, is the home where I lived until I didn’t live there anymore.
And when I think about the words in this song, and look at this front porch…I remember….
I remember standing on these very steps so long ago…
Kissing a boy goodnight, watching my brothers play catch in the yard, waiting for my sister to come home from school, and the seasons passed.
Beyond this door, my mother played Camelot on the piano and my dad sang with his foot propped up on her bench..Christmas presents flowed to the door, fires blazed in the fireplace, a huge weeping willow in the back yard rustled just outside my window…
And yes…my home I live in is my home…but not my only home…and I realize that maybe that’s because I’m a gypsy....
I’m just not all the way built yet.