You Are Home To Me…

Dear XXXXX,

I love you. You are home to me.

In the living room, music is playing. Here, in my mind’s eye, I see both your home and mine; separate but jumbled together. It began with James Taylor’s soft ballads & Norah Jones’ sweet melodic vocals followed by Rascal Flatts. There are Ocean Melodies in the background & as I look up at an arched window I remember a Monterey memory. I see a misplaced man texting a woman at night while she grieves for her dad, lying on a mattress while friends are visiting from out of town. Music frequently leads to slow dancing, concerts with a piano leads to laughter, and salsa dancing in the City ends with a wee bit of jealousy. Colbie Caillat’s song, “Realize” and a live performance leads to being reunited. There are so many that seem to speak to us: “1,2, 3, 4” and “Say hey I love you,” as well as others. In the living room sits the piano & a man who is writing a song using mainly 4 notes…it is unfinished but it is going to be beautiful, I just know it. Will I ever hear it?

The kitchen and dining room have memories of a turkey dinner that was a challenge we conquered together, chocolate strawberries & Champaign, salad suppers, blueberries, yogurt and almonds…it is a metal chair with two people. In this room, I see the Viking school lesson & the repeated performance with you and I. I see restaurants with chicken Caesar salad, salmon, mozzarella, tomatoes & basil or bruscetta appetizers coupled with a glass of Rombauer chardonnay & a lemon drop. The kitchen is place of conversations & meals & food & family & friends. It is 2 people trying to feed their children healthy meals. It is a place with a newly begun tradition of Sunday suppers. There’s lots of laughter at a table with a black bench & a bouquet of flowers. Mainly there is love, even more palatable than the meals served upon the tables we both own.

The family room consists of games played, movies watched, basketball & CAL. It is symbolic of STOMPing, cowbells & cheering. It is triathlons. It is shooting hoops. There are sleepovers for friends. Climbing onto roofs, building zip lines & hammocks outside, an extension of the family room. Walks along the beach, drives to vineyards and other places left to explore. Family rooms are for cozy corners on couches. Reading, learning, watching inspirational speakers or asking difficult questions all take place in the family room. I see barbeques with friends and family. There are bikes; one is alone & sometimes joined with a pack of others or a reluctant teenage rider. The second bike is joined by two more, both smaller in statue. Never the first. With that, I am left wondering why.

The bathroom is for caring for a toothache, sore knees soaking in a tub & shaving in the early morning. It is filled with vitamins & supplements that are lovingly shared & small travel-sized samples. There are towels that are gently used to absorb evidence of time spent together. In the closet a black hair dryer resides. The scene is as varied as the rooms in which we traveled: Monterey, Carmel, Napa, the City, Hawaii, XXXXX Road & XXXX Street.

In the bedroom there are a multitude of conversations; some from habit, some with urgency & some just because. It is honest. It is real. It is painful. Loving. Learning. Exciting. It has a Kennedy boy shirt, gray sweatpants, a variety of pj’s, silk and more. It has a favorite spooning position, “Position A.” It is sensual. It is messy. It is shopping for mattresses, the removal of pillows and 300 thread count cotton sheets. It is plastic bottles of water replaced by glasses that are environmentally friendly. There is the sound of the clicking of clock radios being turned on and times adjusted and a ticking watch. There is tender love, sometimes candles or music and soft lights. Love in this room in particular is new for the girl. She feels safe, secure and wanting to learn more, experience more and be together more. Always there is love.

And so…

Lastly, I think of an object, not a room. A computer. Computers. All white, all Macs. It is where this home was built, on an Internet highway. We’ve shared ideas, reflections, photos & ponderings. We’ve sought advice, friendship and decided to marinate or reflect. Together we’ve seen the death of a father and a company, the birth of our relationship & the continued ones we share with our ex’s because of the five greatest accomplishments we've created together, our children. We’ve both written poetically, metaphorically & in a brutally honest fashion without the intent to hurt or maim. So it would seem, that our “home” would end here on the computer as well. I have loved building it together with you. I suppose we missed the key piece. Our foundation. Mine is solid & you are discovering whether yours is built on sand, dirt, pebbles or cement. I sincerely wish that you will find a place to call, “Home Sweet Home.”

Love to you and yours,

XXXXX