We spent the last 2 weeks house/dog/plant/life sitting while my mother traveled through various points of eastern Europe first with my brother, then alone, then with some friends.
The first week, we felt like we were playing house. "oh! we're at the country house!" we laughed. I felt like I should be driving an old convertible, wearing a white chiffon scarf and large sunglasses.
There is something about living in the house you grew up in, but without the people you grew up with. If you drink the wine, will you get caught? I didn't do the dishes as frequently...was I waiting for my mother? And- sin of all sins- I turned on the heat. twice. ok, three times. I spent my childhood in parkas before the heat would be turned on, the ultimate "put on a sweater" house! I didn't even really enter my old bedroom.
Reality set in in week 2. The weather turned from happy fall to- winter coat? already? and my retro convertible and silk became SmartCar fortwo and wool. (the smart car is pretty awesome though, I have to say. No bigger than a minute and yet our 6foot-plus friends could all, for the most part, fit in it!). We broke more rules- the dog was allowed to roam the house as he pleased, and we didn't feed him from the table (a new rule that Im sure has already been forgotten, much to Foster's delight). Some days, I left the newspaper in the driveway.
But last night, we returned home. Poor Oscar, having seen his parents a total of 45 minutes broken down into 3 min quickcheckthemailfeedthecat visits, was like a desperate orphan. He cried, snuggled, purred, and slept, exhausted, his face pushed between and into ours. There are baskets of laundry overtaking the guest room, our massive trunk suitcase sits juxtaposed between office door and linen closet, making passage next to impossible. Are these clean or dirty towels? What happened to my coat/shoes/saturdaynighttheatertickets??? Its like returning from vacation and going right back to work- but we dont have any photos, or sunburns, or stories of good food and bad spa treatments.
I realized today, however, that there were a few great things about our weeks in the country house. We carpooled to and from work everyday. I realized we dont get to talk like that often. We laughed and pointed at the solo SUV drivers as we zipped past in our smartcar in the HOV lane. We analyzed the morning edition commentaries we both love, yet never get to listen to together. And when we parked, illegally using my mom's hospital parking pass, we didn't want to get out of the car. We became even closer. And when we came home tonight, our HOUSE felt so much more like a HOME, after having spent so much time in the home of my childhood.
We tore down the majority of our hodgepodge backyard garden tonight-cucumbers, mint, cilantro, basil, and oregano for an army! We meticulously cut leaves off of picked vines and stems and stalks, washed them, and laid them on waiting towels, covering every flat surface. We worked in near silence, listening to "fresh air" back stories from my npr-addict app. My hands still smell like an amazing minty-basil. We will turn the crops, probably nearly 50 cups in total, into Christmas gifts of homemade pesto, sauces, dressings, for family and friends.
Yeah, the sentimentalism (is that a word? sentimentality? who cares...) is turned up to 10 tonight. Maybe Im just exhausted. Looking for the weekend, replacing the impatients on the front porch with pumpkins and corn stalks, preparing for our first halloween as homeowners!! ohhhh the costumes to plan!
til the next vacation....
the Gillefonds
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