A Tribal Housewarming
Once upon a time I had a discussion. We debated the finer points of “Home is where the heart is vs Home is where you hang your hat.”
Cliche v. Cliche
I fall squarely into the camp of “Home is where your heart is.”
Do not get me wrong. My house….that I left….is an awesome house. My heart no longer hangs there.
A month ago I faced the reality that living from couch to couch to extended stay hotel was not working for me. I needed a place to hang my hat. Heart optional. I just wanted a place where all my stuff would be so I knew where to look for it when I needed it. It was a stop gap between married and divorced. It was just a place to hang my hat.
Last night my girls came over to throw me a house home warming.
We ate (too much). We drank (too much). We laughed (too much not enough). We may have even cried and said things we wish we could take back. We shared secrets and hopes and dreams and spent way too much time posing for candid shots.
There is no furniture in my apartment. There is a bed, a tv on shelves. A microwave cart or two. (Yet no microwave, I’m not getting one). and that’s about it. I have pretty deck chairs that I move from living room to balcony as the whim dictates. I have a couple of air mattress for when the kids come over or one of my slumber party guests prefer not to share a bed with three other women.
Last night, it changed from the place where I hang my hat to the place where I hang my heart. My tribe breathed its life into the place. Blessed it with its laughter. Christened it with its tears. Shared its secrets so the walls have something to talk about. Warmed it with its love.
If Ty Pennington were here he would say….
“Welcome home Annie. Welcome home.”
(and also he’d blow it up, because come on. The kitchen is stock appliances and particle board cabinets.)
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