When I was a child, my family owned a cabin. (Family as in the Clan; the cabin belonged to my grandpa, and his children took their families there.) Every time we left, we had to pack the cabin back up. Every dish and condiment was put away. Chairs were folded and put in the corner. Sheets were folded and put in trunks. Plastic was draped over beds and counters and the table. The outdoor swing and chairs were brought into the cabin. The water basin was hung. Drapes were closed. Boards were put on windows. The last weekend of fall, the ceiling was propped.
I loved going to the cabin. I loved walking into the cabin the first time, smelling moth balls and ant killer and setting down the load I carried up the hill. I loved waking up the cabin, opening windows, helping to take out the outdoor furniture, helping to take out the plastic to shake it out and fold it away, helping to make beds, and taking out things to make the cabin a home. After the car was unpacked and the cabin was unpacked, my brothers and I were released to the forest to run as a pack up hill, down hill, along deer trails, sliding down pines. Before we were called in to take the bucket out to collect kindling, I would collect flowers and pretty rocks to decorate the cabin. No matter how brief the visit, I had to make the cabin my home.
Lately this blog has been more like a vacation home than a permanent, roots-deep home. My classes have made it difficult to carve out any time for myself. When asked what I do with my free-time, I blinked, saying “well, I used to…” But now I’m student teaching, and I hope I’ll have a little more free time, though I’ll be teaching a full load in a matter of weeks. Which reminds me, I forgot to write a paper that’s due… And there’s 5 lesson plans to write… And I should read Macbeth again…
But I miss this home. I have to write. I’m not happy when I don’t. Only now have I had too little time. Even in college, in between classes, anyone could find me with my journal out, sitting by the fountain, writing. Now I hope to carve out the time to write. Now that the divorce trial is over. Now that I am forced to lose my boys every other weekend. Now that I’m not jamming a semester’s worth of work into 5 weeks. Because I want to perfect my craft. Because I need a place to get these thoughts out of my head. Because I need these stories to stop haunting me. Because I need to breathe.
With any luck, I’ll see you tomorrow. With more luck, I’ll start hunting everyone down. Or more like I’ll ring doorbells of blogs and offer cookies and comments and tell you how much I truly missed you and ask for the latest news and gossip.