home is where the heart is

I don't want a gigantic mansion. I like home-y feeling homes. quaint little places where you can feel the love & warmth. my grandma's house always feels like home. there's this energy, heritage & feeling of origin in her decor. showroom style homes with modern interior design are pretty, but not comforting to me. I like looking at a mess of family photos on the wall. I seek refuge in the boxes of childhood leotards, artwork & keepsakes hoarded in the garage, tucked away for future generations to find solace & history in. if one thing has remained consistent in my life it's the house where my grandparents sculpted two generations of kids into functioning, somewhat successful, adults. outside her house is where I landed my first round off backhandspring & taught my little cousin to do the same. I can still smell the fertilizer & feel the grass separating my toes if i close my eyes & think back. I threw my first football in that yard. my uncle lined up my tiny fingers on the laces of the ball that was damn near the same size as me. I set up my first lemonade stand with my best friend Ciara on the end of that front yard & discovered the drive that would eventual manifest into my inner businesswoman. i chalked up every inch of that driveway every summer with my auntie Sessa. I would lie down as she traced me & we would make chalk versions of one another. one time I drew her acne because I didn't know better. I still feel guilty for the humiliation that ensued from my uncles poor taste in humor. my grandpa & uncle restored a mustang in that driveway one summer. I looked on completely enamored as they reassembled the engine. summer nights my aunt & I would escape to the rooftop to look at stars & read shell Silverstein poetry. one time she asked me why the moon was cut in half & crescent shaped & I retorted "uncle Jim probably ate it" & we laughed until our stomachs hurt. my grandma taught me how to roll lumpia in her kitchen & spent most other days kicking me out of there. Mykol locked my nana into the walk in closet downstairs & got into so much trouble. that was the first time I've ever seen my grandpa actually angry. I was infatuated with the show charmed; so I decided to mix all my nana's perfumes to make a "potion." the fumes made me sick & my mom held me outside in the grass until I wasn't dizzy anyone. she tried to be brave, but I felt the panic. I never touched my great grandma's cosmetics again. (& I used to love to make her over with pink lipstick). my mom had a fabulous selection in her closet. whenever she was at work Mykol & I would put on her dresses & shoes & parade around singing Britney Spears & the spice girls. he threw his first backhandspring by himself on my moms bed. THAT is what a home is. 

so many people fixate on keeping up with the jonses & square footage & lust after million dollar listings without considering what makes a home a home. a home isn't made with six figures, a home is made with memories & love. for the sake of the next generation, can we all just focus on creating loving homes & not mansions outside of our means?