The House That Built Me

So, Miranda Lambert has this song out right now, called "The House That Built Me" and it has resonated with me, especially in the last month and change.  I haven't been this homesick for Seattle since we moved to Colorado in 1994.  Below are the lyrics...below that are more of my thoughts.

I know they say you can't go home again.
I just had to come back one last time.
Ma'am I know you don't know me from Adam.
But these handprints on the front steps are mine.
Up those stairs, in that little back bedroom
is where I did my homework and I learned to play guitar.
And I bet you didn't know under that live oak
my favorite dog is buried in the yard.

I thought if I could touch this place or feel it
this brokenness inside me might start healing.
Out here its like I'm someone else,
I thought that maybe I could find myself
if I could just come in I swear I'll leave.
Won't take nothing but a memory
from the house that built me.

Mama cut out pictures of houses for years.
From 'Better Homes and Garden' magazines.
Plans were drawn and concrete poured,
and nail by nail and board by board
Daddy gave life to Mama's dream.

I thought if I could touch this place or feel it
this brokenness inside me might start healing.
Out here its like I'm someone else,
I thought that maybe I could find myself.
If I could just come in I swear I'll leave.
Won't take nothing but a memory
from the house that built me.

You leave home, you move on and you do the best you can.
I got lost in this whole world and forgot who I am.

I thought if I could touch this place or feel it
this brokenness inside me might start healing.
Out here its like I'm someone else,
I thought that maybe I could find myself.
If I could walk around I swear I'll leave.
Won't take nothing but a memory
from the house that built me.

I can't seem to put my finger on what it is that is making me so homesick lately.  I have friends there from back in the "old days" that I would love to see...but more than anything, I want to take the time to explore the places I still remember.

The cul-de-sac I grew up on, the streets I used to remember how to navigate to get to a former friend's house and back, where I used to catch the school bus every morning, Elementary school, Junior High and High School.  The huge hill that leads from where our house was, right into the heart of the middle of our little town, and even further, to the waterfront.  I have distinct memories of how to get to 2 of my best friends' parents house.  It wasn't very far from where we met, at school, as well as it wasn't very far from our church I grew up in.

To go along with Miranda Lambert's song, I go back and forth as to whether or not I would want to walk into the house I grew up in.  I can still remember the back yard, the front yard, the front porch my dad built, the look of the floor in the entry, the stairs, the playroom upstairs and to the right, the bedrooms upstairs and to the left, the view from my bedroom window, the sunken living room, the kitchen, laundry room, garage, every inch of that house.  How as kids, we would pile our bean bag chairs in the landing and on the slickest sleeping bag, slide down the stairs into them, peals of laughter coming from all three of us as we did it.  I know that as kids, that house felt huge.  They say when you go back and look at the place you grew up in, it seems SO much smaller.  Part of me wants to keep my memories intact...the other part of me wants to walk in and touch and feel that house again.

Where I went to Junior High and High School has the most beautiful campus, and I loved every minute of it.  The front lawn, where we played frisbee during lunch (trust me, Seattle doesn't ALWAYS have rain.), the tree that my mom would always pick me up at (if it was one of the rare days I didn't have to ride the bus home)...the list is rather lengthy.  

More than ANYTHING though, I have been craving a trip to the coast, where our family vacationed every. single. summer.  The sights, the smells, the s'mores.  Yes, I've Googled the location where we used to go, and yes, the cabin of my youth is still there.  With less than 300 yards from the porch to the beach. 

Part of me wants to go with someone who would appreciate that this was part of my past, part of what makes me, well, me.  The other part of me wants to simply go by myself, spend time soaking in the city that I love and the parts that I remember and the parts that I want to be able to remember more of.  

Anyone up for financing my dream vacation?  

...won't take nothing but a memory...