This is a fitting quote on so many levels. I think of my girl friends who’ve had tumultous lives and they remember the houses they lived in during each significant period of their lives. I talked to Stacey last night about a conversation she had with one of her friends about her reason for moving to her last house. I think of her story about her family slides and how no one can know what order to put them in but her family because of the significance of the houses they were living in at the time. I think of Vanessa and her house with the blue door, and Tina’s memories of sleepwalking at a certain house, and I think of all the houses I’ve lived in–14 in total.

As I prepare for students to come to my classroom, I think of the autobiographies I’ll have them write, and the one activity I always ask them to do: create a life map using all the houses you’ve lived in to tell your story.

Each house was significant for us. Each door, window, creak in the floor reminds us of a moment in our lives that we cannot forget–good or bad. As I looked through the Somerset Home issue, I noticed an artist who created tapestries to look like houses and decorated them to reflect the homes.

Today, your challenge is to write about those homes you lived in. Yes, good or bad, you must create your autobiography. Celebrating my grandma’s 80th yesterday caused me to stop and think about the stories she’s told of her houses. If you have photos of the houses you’ve lived in, find them. Create a collage. If you don’t have photos, draw them, color them with your memories, no matter how poor an artist you are.

In the coming months, Tina will be doing art with the doors she photographed in Italy. I can’t wait to see them, but the doors to her own houses are her real story.

Here is a prompt to get you started, “As I opened the door….” Tell me what you see. Think about the homes you’ve created for your children. What do they say about your today? What will your children say when it’s time for them to do the same autobiography?

So, today, I have a plethora of images rolling around in my head.

I read my friend Stacey’s blog today, and she awarded me the “Nice Matters” award. I am nice. I work very hard at being nice. I left a post on  her blog that said I try to do the right thing every day. It’s so important to me to be the best person I can be, to be kind and open to others and make a positive impact on their lives during the course of the day. I sleep better at night when I can maintain this. I awake each morning happier when I know I’ll be doing my best that day.

A few years ago I started Yoga and in the process of learning to meditate, I connected with my spiritual self. It was the most amazing experience. I’ve always questioned God, but the experience of meditating and connecting every day with that higher power helped change my life. I’m not religious. I refuse to adhere to a religion, but I beleive strongly in the power of God, and faith in there is a higher power who guides us when we listen. I’ve prayed over the years and it’s never filled me with anything. I found that sometimes the prayers weren’t answered, and that disappointed me. Prayer was simply me talking and hoping that “someone” heard me. Through meditation, I had to be quiet and was forced to listen to the “voice” inside of me.  That voice was guiding me in the right direction. If I followed that voice, I didn’t have to pray for help to change things because I had listened to the voice in the beginning and got to the place I needed to be. It was an amazing transformation in my life. Suddenly, I was calmer, I was more focused, I was achieving things that I never would have if I hadn’t slowed down and forced myself to listen to God each and every day.

If you’ve never read In Praise of Slowness or the miracle books, you must. And, if you don’t sit down and reflect on your life daily, you must. Listing the good things you’ve done, the gratitude you have for everything in your life–even the negative, will change your life. You have the power to change who you are if only you listen to the voice–which I always think of as my umbilical cord to God.

That being said, I’m adjusting. It’s only been 48 hours and I can already feel the difference. That’s not to say tomorrow I won’t freak out, though!

Thank heavens for my friends. I stopped at Stacey’s on my way home. Tomorrow my friend Angie is coming up and we’re meeting Tina for lunch. Numerous emails from friends and co-workers have helped. So many have been in this same situation. A handful even know what it’s like to have their only child leave. It is different with just one child. There is no one left here at home to divert my attention. The house is eerily quiet. I don’t have to worry about what I’ve fixing for dinner, which, I suppose, is a plus, and all the time is mine. I’m glad I like me! I’m glad I have lots of interests and I’m glad school will be starting soon so that I’ll have something to occupy me.

It’s amazing how fast time goes. It seems just a few days ago, my little guy was running around the house, his tangled blonde hair, his smile, his constant movement and always asking, “How tall do you think I’ll be?”  It seems like just yesterday I dropped him off at kindergarten, his eyes swelling with tears as he wrapped his fingers through my hair–his security blanket, strangely enough–and I walked out of the building, leaving him to learn all the things that his teacher had planned that year. I got in the car and cried my eyes out, knowing that some day he’d leave for good and the pain that I was feeling as I drove away from his elementary school would triple. Silly me. It more than tripled.

Each morning, it will get better. Each evening, this will subside. I’m becoming someone new.  A better me–or so I hope.

I’m entering a new phase in my life, and not only does Stacey “get it”, she’s supportive and helping me find my way through this new phase. She pointed me to blogging, and there are some incredible blogs to visit. I’ll be adding them to my blog roll over the next few weeks. On one sight, I found the book Where Women Create. Since college, I’ve been all about women having “A Room of Her Own”. I studied Virgina Woolf, Emily Dickinson, Elizabeth Barrett-Browning, etc. All of them symbolized the strong female creator–with a room of her own. So that day when Stacey showed me the book, she also looked at my back porch and said, “Oh, this would be so cute if you…” Bam! I was inspired. I got the book from Borders, began searching for decorations for my  back porch and all needed to help refocus my energy as my son leaves for college.

This new phase is going to be scary and I’m glad Stacey is there supporting and prodding me along.

I was staring at her blog yesterday thinking of  a quick-witted comment to leave, and I noticed her “JameeAndStacey… almost like one word”, and I immediately knew what she meant. My brother and I were that way. KellyAndBobby. We were two peas in a pod. My grandparents called us Pete and Repeat. When I got to kindergarten, I wrote my name at the top of the page, and I always added Bobby’s, too. Occasionally, I’d write: Kelly, Bobby, Mom and Bob (I called my dad Bob for years, until my mom started calling him dad!) at the top of my papers, too. My teacher hated that. I’d get in trouble. Worse, there were times, she’d hand back my papers and had scratched out my brother’s name. I was so sad. This in tandem with my very dysfunctional home life, led to a separation between my brother that is wide and deep.  A true chasm between two people.

I envy the relationship that Stacey had with Jamee. I should say still has with Jamee. I do not think that the love in their relationship changed when Jamee died. In fact, I think their love keeps growing and changing and adapting in the same way it would if Jamee were still living. Just the other day, Stacey asked if she should change the title of her blog. I thought NO! As I’ve thought about it, I still say no. Stacey is strong. Stacey is coping–just as my friend Tina coped when her sister died. What I’m learning about strength in the face of death isn’t coming from Stacey, really. I think Stacey is the conduit, and all of it is coming straight from Jamee. I think of the strength she had to face death. To face cancer and the treatments. I think of Stacey telling me about the Forth of July and Jamee couldn’t see, but was trying to enjoy the fireworks. That is strength. That is coping.

Stacey, do not change the blog. Keep prodding me along, and yes, I’ll call, and yes, I’ll wait while your children interrupt you a million times!