After 3 long months in Palo Alto to be near Stanford Hospital following Tom’s heart transplant, we are finally home! In the basement, yes, but home.
I recently found this picture of my parents; such a great photo! They are both gone, and deeply missed, especially now. I can’t think of going home without thinking of my parents; they are always on my mind these days.
I’ve been trying to replicate my childhood home my entire adult life. It was a 1920s bungalow in Studio City, it had pegged and grooved hardwood floors, stone, large and plaster, and really tall, ornate baseboard and crown moulding. It was cozy, it was my home. That is exactly what I’m chasing in order to cope with 2020.
With Floyd, I feel as if I’m completing the circle, coming back around to the beginning. Though Floyd is nothing like my childhood home, he is old, he’s authentic, and he’s part of Tom and me in a way that no other house really has been. I feel like my parents are here, watching over us… thinking we are crazy!
These days, I yield to wild turkeys, pluck errant ivy, and talk with our neighbors about ground cover and shrubs. I wouldn’t have it any other way. We have arrived.
