Feels more like home

Well, my house after eight years now feels complete. On Saturday, my piano arrived. It has always been my piano, regardless of the fact Mom owned it. That piano was the one I practiced on as a child, composed songs on as a kid, sang around with some of my friends, while Mom played song after song.

When I had bought my stage piano keyboard with her help about six years ago, Mom said that I probably would not want my piano. I just smiled.

Well, now I have my piano. Bert has been working on giving it a polish coat, bringing out the true outer beauty of the instrument.

I'm sure that Patrick, my piano is happy to finally be where he will be played more often. For years he sat up in Mom's upstairs apartment and rarely got played, except when I came home or when Mom had a notion to play. I plan on spending some quality time at my piano, playing songs. More importantly, playing the old songs Mom used to play

Mom'shands

Well, it seems as if Mom's hands are still on my life. But, that's in ways that are positive.

Most days, since we sorted through the jewelry, I wear a piece of her jewelry to remind me of her presence. My favorite is a hand made of silver. I love wearing that around my neck. It fits with everything I do with my hands for a living.

Today, I went clothes shopping with some of the money I inherited. I needed a new winter wardrobe, since most of my winter stuff either no longer fits, or is getting worn. I bought stuff she would have been proud of me buying, and yet, I did it in one fourth the time she would have done it, and I bought stuff she normally would not buy for me. I could hear her laughing at me from wherever she is.

Now I'll begin the process of taking summer clothes and hanging them upstairs and putting my new winter stuff away, something I've never done before. But, then again, I don't think I've bought five or six outfits at a time on my own with the help of my client Andrea who owns the resale shop I went to.

Saturday, we will have moved my keyboard and made room for the piano, Mom's favorite instrument for venting. Mine too, if the truth be told.

Her hands are everywhere here. So, why is it, I can't heed her voice tellingme me to pick stuff up? Lol.

Home

Fall always makes me feel like I'm coming home. Maybe it's because so many transitions in my life took place during this time. I have always loved the brisk air, the anticipation of school, clients that are new, the taste of cider or freshly picked apples. I love cider doughnuts, pumpkin and apple pie, toasted pumpkin seeds, the smell of leaves burning, brisk walks and singing around bonfires.

So, why do I live in a city, where so little of that exists? When I figure out the answer to that one, maybe I'll understand better what is going on with me.

Fall is also the beginning of church choir and for our first song, we're doing one called "Going Home". It's an old sacred harp song. (Thank God, James doesn't conduct it at the tempo most of those groups do.)

So, I'm going home to more transitions, to more change, to more mountains and valleys, most of which take place in Autumn.