I thought I would share todays homework assignment with you, from my Creative Writing Class. It begins with a poem that inspires me about what else, but Home.... Home --By Charles Angoff From the Poetry book The Treasure Chest Home is where you hang your memories, Home is the conscience of age, the melody at the end of eternity. Home is truth guiding youth. Home is the regret in every madness. Home is where you begin again, to dream again. I have always thought (or rather daydreamed) that there should be a day set aside once a year, where you can go to the home you were born or grew up in, knock on the door, and enjoy the company of the good people who live there . This is of course absurd...But I still like the idea of it! In my mind I can recall with vivid clarity those boring days now, as being something golden. Something precious that we so often take for granted. When we are young, time seems to hang in the balance of measured anticipation so much more slowly. As a youth my life was full of promise waiting to bloom into fruition, but the natural unfolding of our lives have a rhythm of its own that only age or time can account for. I wanted to go off to college somewhere in a different part of the country, and fall in love with some Ken doll of a guy that drove a sports car, and had a school pennant hanging on the wall of his life. Much of these hopes and dreams were fueled by one or two romance novels; and some of my dreams have come to fruition. Age has adequately provided a much deeper appreciation of how my parents labored to make a house a home for my sister and two brothers. Of course this took much patience on their part, not to mention creativity, virtue and money. If I were a docent and could take you on a tour of my parents home, it would look, smell, taste, feel and sound something like this. As we walk up the concrete driveway and manicured lawn we can see the magnolia tree in the brick planter in front of the garage window, and be taken in by the living room furniture to the right, with colors and artwork hanging on the wall. My parents taste in decorating was more contemporary and modern with a color palette of deep blues, and creams against warm tones of wood, flanked by a wall to wall fireplace that I persuaded them to paint white which opened the room so much more. This included of course a stereo system in a rich walnut wood, that emitted the sounds of both classical and current artists on a daily basis. Both my sister and I agree that we were the only kids on the block who had to ask their parents to turn the stereo down so that we could do our homework. So coming home you might be met with the sounds of Burt Bacharach and Hal David, Sergio Mendes and Brazil 66, or Vivaldi, or Beethoven. I had the good fortune of being able to walk home after school every day to a mom who didnt have to work outside the house until I was a Senior in High School. There was usually something for us to eat, and classic television to watch in between homework studies. Many memories of course were created around meals shared at the dining room table. I remember the day it was delivered. It was a beautiful 6 ft. Round table made of solid Mahogany wood covered with a thin layer of avocado green Formica on the top. My dad turned away the first delivery, complaining that the floor model didnt have a split down the top middle, and was all one solid piece. They returned the following day with the discounted floor model. Later he would glue a plastic Lazy Susan to a beautiful round piece of wood that allowed us to pass the Tabasco sauce for homemade tacos, mint jelly for roasted beef, or whipped cream for pumpkin pie. These are just a few memories that have been stamped on the envelope of my heart, and sealed with candle wax embossed with our family initial to be visited whenever my soul needs to be nurtured or wants to return Home. After all, its where everything begins and ends again, and again! By Jan Bowles
Posted on: Fri, 31 Jan 2014 05:45:22 +0000
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