For the past several months, I have struggled somewhat with the need to nest vs. the need to grow. Most people who know me, know that I tend not to stay in any one place too long. When I moved back to South Dakota, I bought a house with the idea of staying in my government job, close to family until retirement. (Which in spite of my proclaimed 39 years, will come sooner rather than later) Planning, of course, to retire (at 39) to an island in the Carribean where I would spend my days in the sun either drinking beer and reading good books or braiding hair and painting faces of passing tourists to supplement my meager retirement income. I still have not completely given up that plan; but I have been rethinking the whole "nesting" idea.
Feeling at home is actually more complicated than simply living in a structure that you own and can paint any color you fancy. I have been reflecting on the many places I have lived over the years and those places that feel like home. Which brings me to Stella--my eccentric 78 year next door neighbor in God-awful Altus, Oklahoma. Even though I lived in a cultural desert, in a disgusting old house inhabited not only by me but by possums, raccoons and stray cats; I smile when I think about Stella--she was much more than a neighbor. She shared holiday meals and often invited herself to dinner; she watched over my house, my dog and me like an old mother hen; she was my champion with other neighbors and the landlord; she was my 'nightlight'. This past week I was cleaning out the coat closet when I took down the stack of magazines Stella regularly brought for me to read when she finished with them. (Yes, I moved them from Oklahoma and have not looked at them once) It occurred to me that, at least for me, neighbors like Stella are far more valuable than real estate or homeownership.
I moved the magazines to the garage--still can't part with them. Still hoping to feel at home in my neighborhood.
