Homeless

Last weekend, Mark and I were on our way to the Simmons' house in Albertville for a church related meeting/dinner/thingie. Mark asked if he should take Rose Road, and I said no, go down to Railroad Avenue. Then I thought about it and I told him no, you're right -- Rose Road is the best way for us to go.

I used to know Albertville like the back of my hand -- I could have driven to nearly any location with my eyes closed. It was my home, and everyone I loved lived there. But now I do not live there, and haven't for a number of years. My parents don't even live there anymore -- they moved to Huntsville. I now go to Albertville only twice a week -- on Wednesdays for Nicholas' gymnastics class, and on Sundays for worship. I no longer know the neighborhoods and side streets like I used to. So as we were driving to the Simmons' and weighing the shortest route to get us there, I realized that I was glad I didn't know Albertville as well as I once did. I even caught myself thinking, "I can't wait for the day when I don't know this place anymore."

I began to wonder why I felt this way. The main reason, I think, is because my home is gone, and that leaves me with both relief and sadness. And when I say "home," I mean that place that exists in my mind when I think of "going home." It is more than a physical address. At least I think it is. It's almost like a state of mind, but my memories give it a physical place. Until I was eight years old, I lived with my mom and my grandparents. That was my real home and in my mind may always be, complete with Granny's irises in all their glory and the vegetable garden that got smaller and smaller as my grandparents got older and older.

I had other homes in Albertville as well, but they are all sold off and gone (as is Pap and Granny's place), and though I have lots of memories tied up with those places too, it is Pap and Granny's house that remains the definition of "going home" in my head.

I am glad, as I said, to be moving on from my home in Albertville, but I find myself with a void -- without "home" -- homeless. And that is not comforting. As much as I detest that little town (there are various reasons for this, but I shall not go into all that here), at least I had some place to call home.

I can't "go home" anymore. So I am left asking myself, now what? I want home. I do have a home -- the place where my family and I live. It is filled with lots of love and joy and happiness. Yet this is not the place I want home to be -- not in this town, not in this house.

Three days after wondering exactly how to get to the Simmons' house, I read Psalm 45. What led me to this particular Psalm is my Lenten disipline. Each day I read the meditations in the Episcopal devotional _Forward Day By Day_, but I have not been reading the daily Bible readings that go with each meditation. For Lent I am reading the Bible readings, which include selections from the Old testament, the Psalms, an Epistle and a Gospel, hence the Psalm I was led to read: "Listen, O daughter, consider and give ear: Forget your people and your father's house (v. 10)...Your sons will take the place of your fathers; you will make them princes throughout the land (v. 16)."

Well. If that ain't God talking to me! My home is -- IS -- my boys, Nicholas and Parker. They are my new home. Why have I never considered this? My friend Debby suggested that perhaps God wants me to consider where I want my boys to call home. Mark immediately said, "Huntsville!" Well, yes, that is ultimately where we'd like to live. Maybe God is preparing me to get ready because the move is coming, even if I don't know it yet. Maybe God wants me to do as my grandparents did for me -- they didn't look back a whole lot, though they cherished and honored their memories of the past -- they continually moved forward. Their garden that they made smaller and smaller with every passing year is an example of that: they were preparing for what was to come. I think the common theme here is that I should prepare. For exactly what, I don't know. But my boys will see me moving forward, not stuck in my past. And definitely NOT worried about how to navigate the streets of Albertville.

Blackened Salmon

So last night I made blackened salmon for the first time. Mark and I have decided that we need to eat more seafood, simply because that's what The Experts say we should all be doing. We love salmon croquettes. I always use salmon from a can, and I mix it with bread crumbs, egg, parsley and onion. And then I fry them in oil, kind of like hushpuppies, and serve them with cheese grits. I don't think that is the healthy seafood meal The Experts have in mind.

The other night Mark and I were watching TV (probably the Winter Olympics, but that's a whole other blog) and I asked Mark what he wanted for dinner this week. And for whatever reason, though I'm sure it was a subliminal message we saw on TV -- a Red Lobster commercial, or maybe some message from The Experts about how seafood is so good for you -- Mark said, "Fish!" So there you are -- blackened salmon, here we come.

Like I said, I have only used salmon from a can, or sometimes from one of those vaccum-sealed pouches. I never really liked salmon beyond those sources. Even in a restaurant, the featured salmon dish just never appeals to me. So purchasing fresh or previously-frozen-and-magically-turned-to-fresh salmon and preparing it myself made me a little nervous. But I learned some things last night, making blackened salmon for Mark, Nicholas and myself:

I learned that putting Nicholas in charge of seasoning the salmon makes for a very salty dish, but not to the point of it being too salty. Whenever Nicholas shows interest in what I cook, I always allow him to help. It gives him ownership of what goes on his dinner plate, and he's more likely to eat something that he prepared. [It doesn't hurt that Mark and I brag and brag and brag about what a good job he did.]

I also learned that to blacken something means to cook the you-know-what out of it. I figured this out while cooking the last three of nine fillets! Paprika helps -- a lot.

I learned that the three of us LOVE blackened salmon! I can't tell you how happy this revelation was. Whenever I find a meal that all three of us (soon to be all four, as Parker is eating more and more table food these days) enjoy, it never leaves my repertoire.

Blackened salmon will grace our table again, maybe next time with some sort of lemony sauce. I'm also looking forward to having it grilled (ahem, Mark!) and baked and seared -- it's all good. The Experts would be so proud.

Several years ago, I took a personality test, and based on my personal traits, it said I would be quite happy as a writer. I'm such a closet English major anyway, so here I am. Blogging. Here I will celebrate both the mundane and the extraordinary in my life. I don't really have a focus, like food or my kids or stuff I like -- although I'm sure I'll mention all those things at some time or another. I think I'll just simply work out my thoughts in this space and see what evolves. By all means, feel free to suggest subjects or ask me questions -- I will respond as best I can.



"Be well, do good work, and keep in touch." ~spoken by Garrison Keillor at the end of each episode of The Writer's Almanac~