Griffin Lines ‘24
With time here in the home I’ve lived in and loved for eighteen years soon coming to an end, it is the unseen, unnoticed, and mundane aspects of my life that I’ve come to appreciate more and more.
It is my mattress and duvet cover that call my name every night and make it so difficult to leave them in the morning. Their warm, encompassing, and comfortable embrace that I have fallen so in love with.
It is the rhythmic hum of the fan on a bedside table that rarely gets a break. Staying on from the moment I go to bed, to the moment I wake up, to the time my bed once again calls my name at night. My dad often asks why it needs to stay on all day. I don’t have a good answer for him; it just does. I’ve fallen in love with its subtle whir I can always rely on being in the background.
It is the mini green and orange rubber spatulas that are the first ones picked when I’m helping my mom in the kitchen. Not the metal ones, not the square black ones, the mini orange and green ones. They have seen so many meals made, and dishes cooked, and when dinner time rolls around once again, I don’t even think twice about which ones to grab.
It is my creaky basement stairs, as annoying as they can be. The stairs that make it so hard to be quiet at night when going from the middle floor to our basement. The loud wood, whining under the weight of our footsteps, that makes our basement the basement I’ve known and loved my whole life.
It is also the subtly off-toned patch of paint that slipped past us when painting my new room in the basement, the one that I look at every night while lying in bed. And the view from our old room upstairs over the lake, Bellevue, and the I-90 bridge. And the rocking bench on our front porch that has been there as long as I have lived.
While likely noticed and appreciated by very few, including me for the vast majority of my life, they make up the home I know and have loved so much for eighteen years.