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Wednesday, November 2, 2011

Way Stations

I have a canary who sings a lot. When I stop to really listen I marvel that such a small creature can express such virtuosity and joy. Some might not appreciate a singer such as Tommy in their homes but, to me, he captures all that is pure and perfect and distills it into song.He is caged but doesn't know it. Once I left the door open all day since some say to let your canary out now and then, but Tommy chose to stay put. He's glad for what he has without calling it small or insufficient. He is orangey red and beautiful, and seems to know it. Or does that little mirror toy in his cage look like another one of his kind? At any rate, he enjoys his reflection, his home and me.

My home, the little condo I own that sits on the lip of a warbling creek doesn't have bars, but if it did I wouldn't mind. I could still see my little neighborhood, the tall trees, the miniature waterfall, and the winding paths and footbridges nearby. And I could still watch for my daughter, Robin, when she comes over from her place because she lives in this area too. As she crosses the footbridge with the sun shining on her strawberry blonde hair I think how similar I felt when I watched her tread bravely down the street to her bus stop when she was a kindergartener.

Along the path of life I've enjoyed many homes, and they have all pleased me, large and small. Each forms a chapter in family life and beyond. They remind me of those other places dear to my heart and carry with them the kind of stories we often reminisce on. As I moved from one to another my favorite possessions have accompanied me. I have no store room here, no garage either, so I say to myself, if I might store something more than I've managed to get into drawers, cupboards, closets and under the beds, then I don't need it. If it's precious enough to keep then it should be visible and appreciated. An interior designer might be frustrated with me, but it's not so much that's packed into a house as how well-packed it is. Mine, people say, looks homey and artistically arranged, not cluttered but lived in. 

Several times I've believed I would never move again, but I always have, and each time for the better I say. I've seen enough of moving to last me a lifetime. Still, if life is eternal, as I believe, I no doubt will move again. I just don't care to think of that now because I also believe my home is my present sense of heaven and this may be all of heaven I can embrace right now!

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