I haven't lived in this tiny home in Village Green for 12 years now, but it will always be "my home". Every time I'm in the area, I can't resist the urge to drive past it and wave. The new owners haven't done much to it in all this time as if to preserve our history. The paint's the same, the walkway has the same old-fashioned dilapidated tiles, the once new awnings are collecting mold and yet, it still pulls me in each time I drive past it. See up until I was 21, I knew no other home. Those walls contain vivid memories of slumber parties in the living room, 25 people packed in a tiny kitchen clad with ducks, sleeping on the floor in sleeping bags in a nonmaster "master bedroom", backyard parties with records and tape players, 4 dogs, 1 cat, 1 hamster, 2 bunnies, lots of chickens and birds (you'd think we owned a farm or something), family reunions (some with us and some no longer), the list is endless. Resonating most within those walls was an intense amount of love. Luckily, we take the that along with the memories.
So I drove past this personal Heaven of mine and do what I always do: yell out to my girls "This is where Mami grew up!" and they always respond "We know, Mami." This time, I took out my iPhone and like a strange stalker in a moving car, I captured my little home. Here it is: 12251...
