Well this morning I stood looking at the next bunch of stuff to sort and re organize and got to thinking.... if this house is a garage..... where is my home? Where is the place where my family and friends can gather? Where do I go to relax from a day of machine quilting? Where are the photos of my hugh family of kids, grand-kids, and great-grand-kids? Where am I in this garage? Where are the things that show who I am? Not just a professional quilter but a mother, grandmother and great-grandmother and a friend to many. Where's my personality in this place?
Next I had to ask myself..... is what make me, me really in the boxes at the bottom of all this stuff? What I mean is.... are all the things that make a house a home really stored away in my closets and under beds or even inside a cabinet? In my case, yes. I don't have a single picture or nick nack anywhere. It's all in boxes.
When my daughter and I moved into this house I kept every memory I could find a place to hide it. For heavens sake, I have every school paper she ever brought home.... including some from college. The same with my other kids.... all the papers from their childhood. Not to mention some favorite toys, pretty rocks they brought to show me, dried weeds they gave me as flowers, my son's wood carving attempts, inherited items from the people I remember but my kids don't, and photos of trees, flowers, and buildings I saw on vacations many years ago.