Re-membering
I dream a lot about houses and I frequently find myself thinking about what “feels like home” for me. I often wonder if I am unique in this constant searching not only for what it means to be at home, but also what it means to be “me”. I am often surprised by other people’s interpretations of me and wonder how they piece together who they think I am when I haven’t even figured it out for myself.
This weekend I had what felt like a traumatic disassembling of a place that my family has gone to a lot in the past 16 years…the cabin that my parents-in-law were basket makers in, which was at Tannehill State Park, is still there but they will no longer be going there every weekend to sell their white oak baskets, their homemade soaps, and their hand woven rugs. Seeing their hand crafted items being suddenly dismantled caused me to have a minor panic attack. While everyone around me seemed ready to move on, I guess I hadn’t really come to grips with the idea yet, even though I had plenty of time to get use to it. Reflecting on the event I realized that I am not a person that moves forward easily, in fact it usually takes something outside of me for me to move into a different stage of my life. I think this is why writing is so important to me because it allows me to leave my footprints in the shifting sands of time. When I feel unsure of who or where I am I can go back and read my thoughts and dreams and re-member myself, I find my place in the world and peace myself back together again.
