Kissing My Home Goodbye

When it's time to kiss my home goodbye; a true miracle will occur if I don't cry. I will miss sitting on the back steps reading a book. I might miss all the hard work it took in keeping this place in an immaculate mess. I don't really know what I'll miss until that time has come but one thing I know is this, that my childhood home was never lonesome.

I will miss the fruit that this yard produces. I will miss my home, this place I've known. I will miss the cool summer nights, my very own room. The roses in June. The beautiful clear mountain view when it's dusted in snow. God knows I don't want to go but my time here is ready to set. Somewhere out there is another place to call my own & I never want to forget this home because of all the wonderful things it has given me.

There is the sweet scent from the lemon and orange blossoms in Spring with the juice that they bring, the cooing of the morning doves, I'll miss the butterflies and the bees, the flowers, all the trees. I'll even miss the wasps, the humming birds and the nests they build, so many hours I have spent watching them at their feeders. The wild birds making a mess, the rich melodies of their morning songs. I'll miss the murder of crows that fly here at dusk, landing in the tree tops.

I will miss the mulberry messes on the ground and the opossums that hang around. I will miss the scent of Jasmine in the cool Summer night air and the familiar tree and telephone lines and the silent jets flying way up high, blinking as they fly overhead.

I will miss the star patterns in the sky that I see each night, the noisy jets taking flight crackling my peace of mind. I'll miss watching the jets flying into the wind with the nose cocked a bit sideways landing during a fierce wind storm, one right after another. I will surely miss the uneasiness, that comes with living near an airport, watching the landings abort.

The police helicopter flying around low, so late at night, intruding on our peace and quiet. I will miss frequent sirens, and the freight train's noise, the clickity wheels, the blaring horn.

But the corn horn I will never miss, nor the noisy parties, or the crazy way they drive around. I will never miss all the trash on the ground. I can never miss the rude way they stare one down. In the land of my home, they just don't care.

I will however miss, the privacy of my place to host special events, A place for my kids and animals to play, Such a vast memory bank, of all the fun growing up. Like the slumber party when I was twelve. Each and every pet. The stupid things we all have done. Yet not too much regret. Partying till dawn. Mowing the ugly lawn while bro was away. Cleaning the messes day after day.

My children born here and raised within these halls. The pictures they have drawn upon the doors and the walls, I still haven't painted over them. I'm so fond of them. The games we played, Their laughter I recall, with even some tears, fills me with warm memories, footprints in cement. One day I might forget all the toys buried in the backyard dirt, so many pets to rest I have put.

My gardens I have had, it's really sort of sad, the beauty was my prize to win. It ended every year when the Santa Ana winds blew in.

There is a large selection, my memories held, of loved ones long gone, friends that have passed on; all stored up here in this round memory bank, three hundred and twenty seven terabytes is only thirty three percent full.

What I will really miss is a place to welcome friends. The pride of home is hard to hide. Life can be wonderfully alone and cruel but it can also be warm, friendly and askew.

Try to remember everything you do, write it down so at the end of your life, you won't have to remember. It builds faith when you record your prayers and check back later to see they all have been answered. Hang onto your hopes and dreams, share some happiness you deserve & enjoyment in the Lord you serve.