I live in a rural area on about two acres of land we actually can use and the rest is part of various private and public easements.  The house is surrounded by sycamore trees that litter the area with their tired leaves in the fall.  I like to rake leaves…  So, this place has other trees too, even redwoods, and all are filled with birds chatting and singing stories the whole day long.  If you open the window in my bedroom around 7am, the chorus of rival parties can make you laugh.  If you listen closely, you can hear the little birds that have the loudest arguments.  They must have to amplify their voices to make up for their diminutive size.  I know them.  I’ve spied them when they thought I wasn’t zooming in on their rants.  So, I know they are the ones who are so loud.  The other birds, collectively, can mask who really is making all the noise.  But I know…

This place I’m afraid to call home was purchased against my will.  Sort of…  I said I didn’t want it because I know dreams don’t come true.  It has three stalls for horses and a very large paddock and an aging tack room that I used to call my own.  Now it holds only chicken feed and the last remnants of my short stint as a horse owner.  The debt owed on the property is enormous.  It was a desperate purchase to get my kids out of the lousy school district we were in and into one of the best in the nation.  I’m still living here as a single parent, and I’m hoping some miracle will happen so I can keep it.  Unfortunately, most miracles involve money.  I don’t make enough to keep this house.

I never hung up pictures.  The walls are bare except for one lovely print of “The Storybook”.  The original is in the permanent collection at LACMA.  The print was a gift.  Many people have told me I need to hang up pictures.  For me, hanging up pictures means you think you’re home.  I think I’m waiting to move again.

Clearing out the belongings of someone who has basically formed your whole life is both a scary and a liberating endeavor.  I’m scared because I really want to pursue a productive creative life and I’ve been told again and again I can’t make money that way, yet I’m liberated because I can finally make a space all my own.  I’ve never decorated a home the way I would like.  I like fabrics, textures, incense, and clean lines.  I have grown to be very tidy.  Unfortunately, young children tend to eat or break things, so I have only recently imagined what my home would look like if I made the decisions based upon my own preferences.  Removing the belongings of a housemate can make for interesting possibilities.  Not to add more, but to enjoy less.

This house is still not my home.  I’m trying to work things out where I can stay for at least five years.  If that agreement is established, I will hang up pictures.  I will open the window at the beginning of the day and say good morning to my birds and feel like I belong for now.  For once.