Discovering a blessing among my piles of old paperwork

A couple weeks ago, while going through one of my piles of paperwork, I found an envelope from my best friend since the seventh grade. It was dated March 18, 2023, and mailed from her home in Saratoga Springs, New York.

As a result of going through her own paperwork, she wrote, "I found this essay from college (which was written in the early 1960s) while going through old papers, trying to downsize. Thought you might like to read it."

She went on to say, "I came across an old letter to my mother lamenting that you were planning to marry Glenn and that we would never live together in a trailer and have cats. How differently our lives have turned out. It's quite a trip down memory lane, going through old letters, et cetera."

Several years after we were married, Lurana met and married Michael. They were married in her parents' home. My parents were the only other people attending the small ceremony. Here's a copy of the essay she wrote in college at the University of Maine at Orono. It is titled "My Second Home."

My best friend's house is white with green shutters and many windows. I could tell at first glance that it was old and creaked a little, but I couldn't imagine that it would fall down in a thousand years. Its friendliness holds it up.

The kitchen is the first room through the back door. It is a surprise in such an old house because of its shining birch cupboards and bright-yellow Formica counters. The cookie jar by the stove is always full, and the kitchen smells of freshly baked cookies or rising bread. The cat has her special corner with a newspaper tablecloth, although during the Christmas season she has a gay Christmas napkin just so she'll be in the mood. The long table — big enough for eight — is usually covered with pans of apples and homework.

At the windows are bright-red curtains, and the bulletin board by the wall telephone is always covered with notes and messages. To everyone in the family, this kitchen is a place to bake and eat and study and play.

The living room, however, is the friendliest and most cheerful room in the house. It is kept clean, but not too clean, so you aren't afraid to go in and sit down. The eight large, softly curtained windows admit plenty of light, even on the darkest of days. Four of them form a slightly smaller alcove in which the parakeet cage hangs. Cacti and African violets grow under the windows while dark-green ivy trails up and over them.

Bookshelves underneath contain story books, family picture albums and even a guitar. The old upright piano sits next to the alcove, covered with sheet music and baby pictures. The big easy chairs and couch are grouped around the braided rug in front of the fireplace. On the mantle in front of a large mirror are an old clock that chimes every half-hour and two squat, red candles. The chairs are especially favored on chilly winter nights when a fire is snapping in the fireplace, the gray cat is curled up on the rug and the guitar is out of its case.

I have spent many an evening there, singing and talking, only to get up and return to the cold night air. Nonetheless, I carry the warmth and friendship out into the cold, and with it I am able to light my way home. Her professor added a note: "Sounds like home."

Does my girlfriend's essay give you an idea of my childhood home? It reminds me of the times we rolled up the braided rug, moved the furniture and had dances in the living room or had the Young People's group from our church come on a Saturday night. In fact, when the pastor of our little South Jefferson United Baptist Church came to Mum's house in 2009 to plan my cousin's funeral, et cetera, she said, "The last time I was in this house, we were doing the Limbo!"