There are some places where you feel instantly at home the moment you step foot in the door. I have more than a couple places that I can say that of. My parent's house being at the top of the list.
I remember moving in and laying down in the huge side room that was both Living Room and Dining Room and thinking that the room could swallow me whole. With it's immense ceilings and the wallpaper that matched the fuzzy carpet that I laid my cheek upon it felt like the best place on earth.
We'd lived in a townhouse for the majority of my childhood and although I had hundreds of special memories built up over time, all of my friends had long since moved away and I'd been left with no friends in the neighborhood for over a year.
We'd found out about a house for sale while at a homeschool picnic. One of my friend's moms was sitting at the same table as my mom and found out we were house hunting. Coincidentally my friend's family was moving and her mom suggested that my parents come see their house.
So, my parents went to see it - a beautiful historic Victorian home and fell quite in love. A month later they closed on the house.
My friend who had lived in the house, well she moved next door. Her bedroom window faced mine and we could talk to each other on summer nights and wave to one another on winter nights.
These are some of my favorite memories. Hidden in the crevices and tucked in the door frames. Whispered in the lace curtains that my mom has always had hanging in the windows.
A home over a hundred years old and a mystery in and of itself. There isn't even an established record of when it was built. In the archives it was known that our house had not been built in 1890, but there it stood in 1900.
In the front window there is a pin sized hole. A stray bb must have pierced it we've surmised. But none of us are quite certain who or what did it.
My friend wrote our names on the chimney in the attic. She wrote it before she'd moved out and it is still there. It makes me smile every time I see it. She and I are still friends.
My mom has a plethora of items in the house that make it just as much home to me as the house itself. There are simple things that stand out above the rest. Her china cabinet being the most significant item. Her grandma gave it to her and she's had it for as long as I can remember. It has always housed her most prized dishes and my mom displays them beautifully.
While I was walking around the house I glanced down and there it sat. My mom's stapler. I had to stop and smile as I bent over to look at it more closely. I remember using it when I was making paper chains, or when I needed to staple a report. I remember her using it for her at-home business. There it is, still. And suddenly and quite strangely it seems a part of our history, just like the curtains, the cabinet, the house.
It's almost surreal when a place can make you feel at home, whole. But I don't always think about it. I just take it as it is. Walking around, looking, thinking - it took me back. It made me remember so much. The prisms in the window and how they'd catch the light, turning rainbows on the wall. The sun shining through the window in the morning and the way the attic smelled. Hot nights in an old home with no air conditioning to keep us cool. Creaky doors, wooden floors, club meetings in the basement. Birthdays, Christmases, smiles, conversations on the front porch. And, I feel... at home.
I would love for others to link up to this post. If you have a favorite place to be, or a favorite place to go I'd love to read about it!