At home

I've spent the better part of the last 3 hours sitting on my screened porch in my back yard listening to the sounds of summer in a neighborhood. Having never grown up around neighbors, it always strikes me how loud and personal living in close quarters with others can be. The drone of the lawn mowers across several streets, hitting tree roots and rocks that ping with sharp force against the blades. The accompanying howl of the neighborhood dogs as a fire engine goes racing by the entrance to the subdivision. The sound of my child laughing as he climbs the fence between our house and his best friend's house, knowing that I've told him 10,000 times not to climb that fence.

These are the reasons that we live here. We have a wonderful house, in a great and desirable location. It is immensely liveable with cool shade trees, smooth grass and a house older than I am. Sitting on this porch I think of all the memories made in this yard, on this porch with all those who lived here before us. And I think of all the memories yet to come, the ones we haven't made yet and the ones I am making right now.

How sweet it is to be me.