Saturday Morning Spaghettio's and Final Destinations

I waste Spaghettio's on Saturday mornings.

I wake up on Saturday mornings and the first thing on my mind is Spaghettio's. I pad to the kitchen half asleep, wash a bowl and pop the can.

The only thing missing in my modern version of this ritual is the small brown pot my grandmother used when I was a child. The microwave cheapens the process a bit.

I think of my grandmother round and Jolly, I never thought of her as fat. I always just assumed she was soft in the places I needed her to be.

 I can still feel the polyester of her blouse pressed against my face when she would hug me. 

Her rings would jingle together as she stood there stirring and humming a tune.

I felt this was her little ritual just for me. An act of defiance that she would indeed feed her granddaughter real Spaghettio's and Coca-Cola for breakfast.

They tasted of love and rebellion.

My microwaved Spaghettios do not reach the desired expectation. They do, however transport me back to my place of sanctuary. I am standing right there with her in the kitchen, nestled against her hip while she sways and hums and pours love into that pot.

Nothing in the world that exists without her will ever taste as sweet.

After a few bites I give them to my dog and we are both happy. 

   

     My grandmother made me ridiculously happy. She made me feel seen in a way that no one else did. At least not until I met Chad.  I want to be like her when I grow up. She was wise, strong and well read. She never gave you the answer you were seeking, she helped you find it yourself.

      Her home wasn't perfect, in fact it was comfortably messy. Clean enough to drop by but  dirty enough to be unpretentious. I want to have that special place where everyone who comes here feels safe and loved. I realize that her home may not have been that for everyone, but for me, it absolutely was.  I want everyone who crosses my property line to receive healing in the same way that this experience has healed me. I had asked the universe for something huge and the universe was giving me answers.

      Finding our destination for little house and for our family was a very healing day indeed. Chad nor I had ever owned anything outright. But ownership was not about the materialistic aspect of it, it was about finding something secure for our family. People comment about how brave we are, but the way I see it bravery isn't something you stumble into. It is a choice that you make to do what scares you. 

      Little house was living on a property that was being sold so she had to be moved.  We looked at a few places but they didn't  measure up to what I pictured in my mind. When we finally found the perfect place wouldn't you know it wasn't on the market, but with the connections of my dear friends and a little luck we were able to secure a sale. 

      The property already had a hay barn on it. It was nestled into a cotton field. The first time I saw it I just knew that this was the place I had been seeking.

      I think the barn is what won me. I am always drawn to tattered things that can be remade into something new. It was positively nasty when we first saw it, but I saw the potential there and the styling of the barn matched the structure of little house. It was almost as if they were long lost soulmates, waiting to be cast once again in supporting roles.  I'm so grateful to Mr. Lay for deciding to let me have a little corner of his cotton field.  Below is a pic of us trespassing on the property to check it out after we got the greenlight on the sale. The barn has been on the backburner for now but she has her own story to tell as well I'm sure of it.