Everything at "home" is so familiar. I like that I can walk into the kitchen and find the plates exactly where they were 25 years ago. At home there is always a never ending supply of tea bags and sweet n low, toilet paper and salad. Apparently these are the essentials in life. The joke is that if my Mom, (Mop...that's what I call her) gets down to one case of toilet paper, she has to make an emergency trip to Sam's Club to stock up. The woman has a great fear of running out of toilet paper. I guess she likes a clean ass or something. Weird. If I'm lucky enough to be home for longer than a few days I might get to see my Dad's infamous bill face. This mysterious face only comes out once a month and it's a toss up on whether or not you really want to see it. Entertaining to watch, but ohhhh soooo serious. For the record, the bill face does not speak while it's in use. When I was a kid, before I recognized the bill face, I would ask my Dad, "Whatcha doin', Pop?" And he'd answer without thinking and with a big sigh, "The Bills." Oh. Hmmm...that didn't sound very fun and not something a kid could do, so I'd scamper off to play fashion plates or homemade karaoke until the bill face and the bill drawer went back to their hiding places.
By far, my favorite thing to do at home is to go to my bedroom and look at my old stuff. I know what's there, I left it behind almost 17 years ago. On purpose. There's a comfort in knowing that somewhere in this world there is a place that contains my stuff. Physical memories of the past, a simpler time when all I had to think about was if my science homework was done or how many pennies were in my piggie bank or what weekend the all-night skate would be down at the skating rink. Late at night after my parents have gone to bed, I start digging through my drawers where I come across old rings and necklaces, a random pair of socks, notes written by my best friend in middle school, all folded up in that awesome middle school way. After I've inspected everything in my drawers, I head for the hope chest. I gently open the cedar box, so large it reminds me of a coffin. The smell of cedar fills my nostrils and more memories fill my head. Stacked neatly inside are my senior high school pictures. I can't help but laugh at them...I have that dreamy far away look on my face, bright red lipstick and totally 80's hair. I'm not sure if the seventeen year old girl in that picture knew where her life would lead her, so far it's been a good ride but I think 17 year old Ginger wanted a little more than 35 year old Ginger has now. But for a moment it's fun to flip through the old pictures, pick up the trophies and remember all the fun times I had. I like to keep in touch with the 13 year old me, say hello to her every now and then and remember how much fun it was to blow off the day and lay around at the beach. There needs to be more of that when you grow up!
Last but not least is my closet....ohhhh my closet. It's now filled with half of Mop's wardrobe, but buried deep within I find my poofy red prom dress. Truth be told, it's the best dress I EVER had! In an unusual turn of events, my Dad was the one to take me shopping for that dress and I remember when I walked out of the dressing room he instantly said, "that's the dress!" And it was...bright red, a little poofy, a little scrunchy, but just right for my senior prom. Oh how many memories a prom dress can bring. I spent all day getting ready for prom, getting my hair done with half a can of aqua net, painting my nails and waiting for my date to pick me up. We headed off to my Grandma's house so she could see me all dressed up. She was sick with lung cancer and the visit was the hilight of her night, I loved having her be a part of that day as much as she loved being a part of it. Once we departed Grandma's house, we stopped by McDonald's for dinner where I ate chicken nuggets and answered the many questions from the other patrons about my plans for the night. "PROM, of course," I said...and oh, by the way, my date is a cheap bastard. I'll never forget walking out of the bathroom at the dance with the back of my dress trapped in my pantyhose. MORTIFYING...except I felt the breeze before anyone saw my hiney. Phew! Also left at home was my Army dress uniform. It hasn't fit me for years but I love to look at it, still pressed from the last time I wore it, medals adorn the chest, my name tag still in place. I can't even begin to recount my short time in the Army, but suffice it to say, it was fun, scary, hard, annoying, and invigorating all at once.
As my visit home comes to a close I contemplate packing up all my old stuff and taking it with me. And every time that thought crosses my mind I veto the idea completely. My old things don't hold the same meaning in my house. They belong back "home" where the 6 year old me still lives. The kid with curlers in her hair eating homemade popsicles and petting a cat named Precious.
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