We all have those places back there in our lives that we go home to. The house that has been my anchor point in San Francisco off and on for the last 20 years or so is that place for me. Its not the physical ‘house’ that I connect with, but everything about it. I notice a plant has been moved closer to the window, or that the newspaper recycling basket is falling further into disrepair.
There is a comfort that comes with knowing something so well – well enough to notice things so small.
The ratio of pots to plants on the back deck has always been favoring pots – always. This time though, the plants are winning – things are changing in small ways.
But there are big changes too. New neighbors have taken down a sickly tree in their backyard, opening up an unobstructed view of St. Paul’s Church.
I’ve never seen that view before – never the whole church – amazing. The scaffolding in the picture means that the steeples are being cleaned too. But the church has always been there. Always will be. Many a Christmas we talked at the table in the kitchen about going to a service there..one of these days. I mean, it is only a block away.
New windows in the living room have stilled the draft.
These changes are good..but that’s not why I go back.
The woman who owns the house, Jane, has an eclectic and artsy decor of weavings and baskets. Whenever I go back I sleep surrounded by shelves of her beautiful hiupiles
and every now and then I wake to a sunrise reflected in the windows of the houses on the hill.
While I can go home again, I do. Do you?