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House
Too much contrast—whoops.
You are viewing stuff tagged with home.
We were out on a family bike ride, and I was explaining to Ess that when the three of us are together, no matter where that is, that is home. Ess listened closely, and now whenever she sees the bikes in the garage, she says “home.” I didn’t mean to teach her the wrong word for going on a bike ride, but it is too sweet for me to correct.
Currently sitting next to Mykala, listening to “A Charlie Brown Christmas” in my headphones, finalizing the video transcoding additions I’ve made to the site. She’s watching a little light television, eating popcorn. Our first round of Christmas decorations is lending a soft light to the living room as candles flicker. George is waiting to eat some popcorn, sitting on the Christmas plaid wool blanket on the footstool. Essie is upstairs, sleeping soundly after an evening of joyfully running around. It’s supposed to snow tomorrow.
The lid of the seventy year old stove creaked reluctantly as I pushed it up and ducked my head under. Dust and the smell of distant eggshells wafted up as I relit the stove with the long reach matches from our landlord Mary Alice. A few years ago, when we woke up to the unpleasant smell for almost a week straight, we had learned the pilots tended to get blown out by gentle breezes. Now, this little piece of knowledge was to get filed in the “no longer useful” category in my brain, along with bits like how to keep the sink and tub drains draining (never use without at least one trap), when to change the screens out for the storm windows (earlier than you think; the days quickly get cold), how to avoid the water hammer (turn the water on more than you think you need), how much to turn down the heat (a Pendleton and a down comforter were musts), how to stay cool when the power went out in the summertime (good luck… meditation?), the trick to shutting the front door (humidity dependent), which outlets dropped cord prongs from them like leaves in fall, and which appliances tripped the breaker if used in concert.
We’re thinking about moving houses soon. It’s been a great run at our little duplex spot here on Warwick in Minneapolis, but we moved here out of necessity back when I was in school. Five very short years later and we’ve outgrown the space. I’ll have quite a bit to say about it when we actually move, I really enjoyed my Cretin retrospective, and I think I’ll enjoy writing a Warwick one, too.
The ex-potato field felt empty but not desolate—lot stakes, light posts, and the bafflingly windy streets of modern suburbia were all in place. Ours was the second house in Brighton’s Landing, a development in what would soon become one of the fastest growing cities in the nation. I knew none of this context, nor would it have refined my picture of my place in the world—like any child, my life was defined by low walls and narrow vistas. But I did know we were moving, here, to this new house. I gazed up into the vaulted entryway, looked down at the unstained ornaments for the front window. My memories of this construction phase are spotty, but I know we visited regularly during dim fall evenings. I remember little from the days we moved, but the vast expanse of fresh carpet lodged in my brain. Perhaps because I was six years old and still close the ground. That was 1991, over 20 years ago.
Home is a five minute bike ride from school. I’ve increased my efficiency in clinic, freeing up time after my morning appointment. These two facts mean I get to come home and see my wife for lunch. I love that a lot.
Though Mykala is away right now, I can sit here at home, on a warm summer afternoon, and enjoy the view onto our tree-lined patio.
I asked a fellow dental student of mine what he was doing this weekend. “Going to get a cavity filled.”
Mykala and I are busy, busy. She’s gone all weekend for a dance competition and I have a straight set of finals starting Monday. It’s times like these, when you think you haven’t the time, when you absolutely must take a moment to make your significant other feel special in any way you can. It’ll save your relationship, so you can weather the times you both forget to nurture.
Too much contrast—whoops.