"We're going home," I told many people today. I have a home, of course, in Minnesota. Yet "going home" also means going to my parents' home in Wisconsin. Every time we get close, I think of the things I love about this place, like the grate above my grandparents' fireplace and the secret pull-down stairs to their attic, the long walk-in closet of my childhood room, and the huge park just blocks from my home.
And as I write tonight, I am upstairs near the shelves of books I knew as a child...Too Much Noise by Ann McGovern (and illustrated by Simms Taback) which David reminded me of the other day, all those Tell-a-Tale books like Someplace for Sparky and Amy's Long Night, the Maj Lindman books. Downstairs is the bookcase with all the titles my nieces and nephew love to read with Grandma (and will want to read with me tomorrow).
Such comfort home brings.
Have fun at "home", enjoying all those good old books.
ReplyDeleteAh, to have such a "home" to come home to.
ReplyDelete