My Parents’ House

pRight this very moment, as I write to you, I am at my parent’s house.. . .or should I say “MY” house. /p
pThis cozy little place is the exact home I grew up in. We moved here when I was 7 years old, and my Dad and Mom have never moved. They like it here. It’s home. . . a bit too small now that my siblings and I all have families of our own. You should see us on holidays when we are all crowded into this space, sitting on top of each other and vying for the best position in front of the television or around my mom’s dining room table./p
pThey’ve searched for another house – possibly a bigger one to accommodate their booming brood, but they just haven’t felt settled anywhere else./p
pAnd honestly, I’m kinda glad./p
pBecause today, I popped over to do a bit of studying/writing and found the familiar couch and kitchen table and cups and plates and carpet and beds that have always been (well, maybe not all the true originals but you get the idea). This place still feels like “my” place.. . . and I think that’s a worthwhile swap for “bigger and better” any day./p
pSo, here’s to the comfy sofa I’m sitting in, and the wooden coffee table my feet are on in front of the old HUGE tv that my father refuses to trade in for an updated sleek flat screen. /p
p style=”text-align: center;”img src=”http://www.goingbeyond.com/sites/default/files/blog/Picture%2014_6.png” alt=”my parents’ living room” width=”239″ height=”320″/p
pYup. . . here’s to the piano that sits up against the living room wall – in the same position since my piano lessons from the ages of 5-12. And here’s to the aged and worn photo albums that my mom didn’t take a Creative Memories class to organize, but have stood the test of time none-the-less./p
p style=”text-align: center;”img src=”http://www.goingbeyond.com/sites/default/files/blog/Picture%2015_2.png” alt=”photo albums” width=”236″ height=”314″/p
pYes, here’s to home. My home. The place where my heart settles in./p
pPriscilla/p