It is very hard for me to talk about why we left Boston. Even now, in a new, perfectly-imperfect house, happy as can be, when I think about the house in Roslindale, my heart aches a little. It was our first house, and I thought, our last. I had my babies there. It was two-steps shy of a disaster, but we transformed it. It always felt good there, inside those wall, in the garden. The plan to leave was not really decided by us, but by circumstances beyond our control and comfort. That sucks. And in no way do I have it bad when I think of people who lose their homes due to war or natural disaster or finacial collapse, but being told you need to leave when you weren't planning on it is awful.
That said, I love houses and homes. I love the shows on tv that take people through real estate. I love seeing how people live and decorate within their spaces. And I absolutely love our new home and how quickly it became ours. We are the Real Estate Miracle of 2011, no doubt. I have always placed a lot of my identity, for good or bad, on where I am from and where I have lived. These things are a part of me.
When I came upon this short film this morning I was intrigued. It's a little long, but so worth it. It made me cry. Because, what is a home in the end? I think this film explains it perfectly.
Ysterday, I sat outside of yoga class, in my car, on the phone, crying. I was finally talking to someone about things brewing in my life. I tend to hide away from people when things are hard for me. I push lots of good people away, or ignore them. I hate to spread my sadness. Or worry. Or anything not wonderful or happy. But last night, I just had to talk to one of my dearest friends. I had to unburden myself a bit. And, as expected, it was a great release.
Today, I went through some emails she had sent me that I had glossed over in the past few weeks. And she sent me this project below. This is why I call her.
You can read the Oprah piece here. You can visit the awesome blog Granny is My Wingman, here. And when she isn't online dating and ruling the New York club scene, she's out saving orphans in Nairobi, Kenya with her R.E.A.D. project.
And basically, she lives on the complete opposite side of the country. I've only been in her presence like half a dozen times. Yet, when I am around her, and especially when I read what she writes, I often smack my forehead and yell at Mike, "Listen to this?!?! This is my family! This is why I am the way I am. We are all fucking crazy!" But only in the most wonderous and excited way.
Now she's blogging. Christ. I've laughed so hard, only three posts in. J'adore, Joolie!
Enjoy the craziness. Our love of hot sauce, doughnuts, and booze ought to be made into some new family crest. Designers, if you want to take a crack at that one, I'll gladly post your renderings on my blog.