It occurred to me yesterday, alone in the house I have mockingly referred to as ‘The Disposable Shack’…
After the family packed itself into two cars, with two dogs and a pile of The Stuff…
And after the movers finished up and drove down the driveway and away with more of The Stuff…
It occurred to me, as I was going through the house, sweeping and gathering the minimal Stuff that remained (some quite cleverly hidden), that it was a little like what I have done each night since my children were little…
And maybe a little bit before that.
Going quietly through the house, turning off lights…
Checking doors that ought to be locked, as well as those that ought not be… knowing JoHn already checked them during his nighttime routine, but checking again anyway.
Making sure windows are closed, or open just enough.
Picking up things that could be tripped over by fast young feet, or shuffling elderly ones.
Putting back things that need to be found easily the next day… by small beings (or grown ones not yet sufficiently caffeinated).
Meeting JoHn upstairs to brush teeth and climb into bed… complain about his desire to keep the light on for reading, and mine to shut it off and fall asleep to the sound of Friends on the old Sony Trinitron set across the room. The one that we hoped we’d never have to move, it was so heavy.
Only yesterday I wasn’t roaming through the house, tucking in my family.
I was tucking in my house.
And thinking of Margaret Wise Brown’s and Clement Hurd’s Goodnight Moon as I went….
In the great grey home
There was a fire’s hearth
And the door to kids’ rooms
And a secret reading loft lit by –
An actual indoor moon
And a lucky cricket so jaunty
And a corner for Monty
And the view from my writing
And an old man’s shop lighting
And a basketball hoop
And a yard cleared of poop
And a tree we called Snuffy who grew near our door stoop
Goodnight hearth and hearth’s room
Goodnight door to kids’ rooms
Goodnight actual indoor moon
Goodnight lucky cricket so jaunty
Goodnight corner for Monty
Goodnight view from my writing
And Grampa’s too bright shop lighting
Goodnight basketball hoop
Goodnight yard cleared of poop
Goodnight tree we called Snuffy, who grew near our door stoop
Tucked deep into my heart
As I roam
As I roam
Thanks for readin’.
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