Growing Roots

Occasionally while I'm puttering around in Mama's house, I realize that I've spent a huge amount of my life living in that house. Mom and I lived in the attic for a while when I was pretty little. I spent most summers there, and after we moved back to town when I was in 4th grade, I spent weekends and after school time there. Living there now isn't the same, but I still get those moments of recognition. The sound of walking down the hall, the smell of clay dust, the bell on the stairs.

I moved back in with Mama and Papa the last time when Sissy and I started, ok, well maybe not started, but got to the point where we just could NOT get along. Mama's was always a refuge for me. A safe haven away from the crap in my life.

When the shit hit the fan with Sissy, I called Mama and she said that I should come and stay with them. That was about 10 years ago, and I'm still there. Things with Sissy certainly have gotten better and who knows where it will go. But, since Mama now NEEDS to have someone with her, this works out quite well. I have good things on both sides, and not always such good things, but overall, it works and has for a decade.