Finishing up the packing and about to head out. . .

As of yesterday morning, a new family owns our little white house on Wahinepe’e St.

My heart is heavy and light, all at the same time. I am profoundly happy for the family who bought it, they are remarkable, and so very, very deserving. It’s also a very meloncholy (or should I say melon choly)  feeling to say goodbye to a home that has cradled us as we’ve weathered so.many.storms. I remember my brother‘s room (before he moved out and set up camp on the beach… like a bona fide hobo). I remember where I was sitting (4 years ago tomorrow) when my Dad told me that had died. I remember where the baby‘s crib had been, and how joyous I felt as I assembled it. I remember how sorrowful I was as I broke it down and placed a dresser in it’s place… so I wouldn’t have to wake up every morning and stare at it sitting there, empty. I remember hours on end of laughter, plenty of yelling and madness, and so much friendship and love that I could burst at the seams just thinking about it.

But. . . I keep reminding myself, home is where we are, together. WE are what makes a house a home. Not friendly neighborhood kids in and out of the house, not belly laughs, or tickle fests, not dance parties or trampoline wars, not more joyous memories than I can count… it’s us, and we’re sticking together.

Aloha ‘oe beautiful Laie. A hui ho!

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