The house that built me
When I look back on my early years and how I spent my childhood, I can't help but smile warmly. The view of the majestic mountain, standing tall and proud, from the front yard of the cozy house on Spring Lane will forever be etched in the deepest corners of my mind. It was a sight that always filled my heart with a sense of awe and wonder. And oh, the sound of the train passing by, its rhythmic chugging and gentle whistle, it never failed to bring comfort to my troubled thoughts. It was like a melodic lullaby, soothing my restless mind and guiding me into a tranquil slumber. But it wasn't just the scenery or the sound that made that house on Spring Lane a true home for me. It was the subtle familiar scents that lingered in every corner, the smell of home. The aroma of freshly washed linins, the comforting scent of simmering chicken mole, and the fragrance of my grandmother's homemade tortillas. These were the smells that embraced me, wrapping me in a warm blanket of love and memories. Within the sturdy walls of that house, lay the stories that shaped me and moments that broke me. It was a place of laughter, tears, and everything in between. And no matter where life took me, it always remained my sanctuary, my safe haven.
For as long as I can remember, I was always following in my grandparents' wise and loving footsteps. While other kids were sharing bunk beds with their siblings, I was fortunate enough to share a queen-sized bed with my remarkable grandmother, my own queen and guiding light. Every night, as we settled in to say our prayers, I could feel the gentle touch of her weathered hands and hear the whispers of her kind voice. "Goodnight Josephine," she would say, her words filled with warmth and affection. And as the sound of the passing train embraced us, we would drift into the most peaceful sleep, knowing that love and protection were just an arm's length away. Those early mornings were a symphony of love and routine. With the rising sun, Papi's Ponche, a special homemade concoction, would grace our breakfast table, filling our hearts with joy and our bellies with warmth. While Papi worked tirelessly outside, tending to the yard and nurturing his beloved garden, Mima was the perfect homemaker, finding purpose and satisfaction in cooking and cleaning. Their harmonious partnership was a testament to their unwavering commitment to family and each other. The school year would pass by like a fleeting breeze, filled with fond memories of friendships and lessons learned. But it was the summers spent in that cherished house that truly captivated my heart. Those were the moments when the whole family would come together, like scattered puzzle pieces finding their rightful place. Cousins from near and far would gather, their laughter echoing through the halls, as we embarked on adventures at summer camp or wondering through the woods on our annual 4th of July camping trip.
Though time has passed and those summers have become cherished memories, the desire to go back and relive those moments burns within me. Those days of carefree joy and endless possibilities are truly the happiest times of my life. If I could journey back to that house on Spring Lane, to the embrace of my loving grandparents and the warmth of family, I would give anything to savor those precious moments once more. One more ride in grandpa's old truck, the smell of worn seats and timber and memories flooding back with every creaky turn of the wheels. One more "Monday Night Raw" with Mima, the sound of her infectious laughter filling the room as we cheer on our favorite wrestlers together. One more cup of Ponche, its warm and comforting taste wrapping around me like a loving embrace on a cold winter night. And one more sweet lullaby of "Goodnight Josephine," the gentle melody of Mima’s voice soothing my soul as I drift off to sleep. I smile at the beautiful memories that have adorned my existence over the years. They have become fragments of joy that I hold close to my heart, bringing warmth and comfort on even the darkest of days. The anticipation of being reunited with those cherished souls fills me with an indescribable sensation, like a butterfly dancing within my chest. Every passing moment is a step closer to rekindling the laughter, the love, and the shared experiences that have shaped who we are. Time may separate us for a while, but it cannot diminish the strength of the bonds we forged. And so, with each passing day, my heart flutters with an ever-growing excitement, eager to embrace the familiar faces and celebrate the reunions that await.
