I am one of 5 kids, the second oldest. We still all consider the house that we grew up in as home. As in "I am going home this weekend."
Which is exactly what I have done this weekend. It allows me time to relax with the rowdy mob that is my family. My beloved step-dad isn't well, and we like to help him drink his wine cellar and listen to stories. And watch the kids bring the old shack to life.
This is the house that he grew up in, and his dad before that, and his grandfather before that. And before that......
If these walls could talk, today they would say "What is with all the fucking noise? Who are all these people?"
It is also the house that I grew up in. And knocking back a roast chicken on a Friday night made by my Mum still tastes sweet.
Post dining wines, a bit of tv followed by some very good deep and meaningfuls are a bit of a tradition around these parts. The more wine consumed, the more quality secrets are revealed.
Last night, there were some doozies.......
I went to sleep in my childhood bedroom, surrounded by my snoozing offspring. What a trip hey!
I thought what would a 12 year old me think about how things have turned out so far...... I suspect she would be too busy Farrah Fawcetting her fringe and rocking out a short sleeved pastel, floral jacket to think too much about tomorrow.
And a 16 year old me would be too busy climbing out of that bedroom window to meet her mates at midnight to care.
And if I am really going to be honest, I still don't think about the future too much. There are no goals and I still don't want know what I want to be when I grow up. Up until this point, my life stumbled along it's own path without the benefit of consideration.
I sometimes wonder what I would be like if I was competitive and driven and goal setting and competent.
But then it makes my brain hurt.
Did you choose your life, or did it choose you?
