Wednesday, July 9, 2014



  [hohm-bod-ee]  Show IP
noun, plural home·bod·ies.
a person who prefers pleasures and activities that center around the homestay-at-home.
1815–25,  Americanism; home + body

I'm a total homebody.  I like to think that I have grown since I was a child, into someone who is more spontaneous, and can go with the flow.  Someone who is able to be kind even when she is tired or grumpy from long nights of travel.  I used to be in the car with my parents, sisters, and brother and hated these loooong trips.  Before my brother, the three girls would be stuck in a Volvo, and drive throughout the night from Ohio to Charleston...  There was nothing I hated more.  I always got car sick, or there was fighting or crying.  As soon as we hugged Poppy & Grandma hello, I would find a spot, a tree, a roof, a bed, a couch and crack open a book.  I, then, could escape myself into someone else's world, someone else's problems with solutions.  My huge thoughts were too big for my little brain and body... (I really hope that my children do not inherit this). I ran from the exhausting traveling, fast as possible into the dreamy pages.

When I finally resurfaced from my introvert needs.  We would eat, and sit around and laugh.  Cracking silly jokes with Poppy, sitting in his lap.  Listening to his rumbling voice as he talked to mom. I think he whistled a lot.  He always did the knee tickle, especially if you were riding around in his truck with him. Singing along with his tunes, working with wood.  The shavings from his carving and cutting wood would fall around the shed, the dust settled.   The smell of something new, organic, homemade. He could fix anything.  Poppy was also so gentle, (truth that you marry someone like your dad, my mom did in this way). He had a sweet spirit, gentle hands.  Gentle enough to cross stitch, and carpentry.  Tough enough to keep up with all his grandsons and sons, to have fought in war, to raise a spitfire daughter. To love Jesus. 

"Little Red" she said... her birdsy voice, cooing.  Red lipstick shining, always dressed to the nines, with millions of cute flats and pocketbooks (hello to the south).  Grandma... her gray bee hive hair style.  A little brown mixed in, to stay young.  She was funny, and stubborn.  Welcoming but don't leave your cup down on a counter, it would disappear into the sink in heart beat.  We would sit together on the front porch, swinging in the Charleston sticky summer, or breathing in the cool beachy air. Let the porch swing take our cares away.  Little Red, she would call me.  Draping her arms around my shoulders, filling her hug with my little body. I am the oldest, there was always something special to me about being able to wander into her hugs, like I was little again.  Just a kid.  Forever her grandbaby. She filled our pockets with cash, when we left.  It was like candy, "buy yourself something!" My favorite days, were watching her cook up a storm, filling the Sunday table with fresh garden veggies, sweet butter filled mac & cheese... so her whole family could laugh and eat, and eat and laugh. I was always watching, listening, smiling to myself... I don't know how much I talked, I was so shy.  She didn't care though.  Just her Little Red. I've got Charleston in my soul.  The salt and the sweet humidity. The south... East of the River... 

I remember when everyone would finally sleep, and I would catch my dad's eyes as he would watch all of us in the rear view mirror.  He would see me, with our matching blue eyes, and we would smile. 
I thought about this, while I glanced at N & N, and they ask if I can see them without my glasses on. I listened to their little voices sing along with Elsa and Anna. We created memories, even though the car ride was long and tedious. I hope that one day, N & N will still smell, taste, and relive beautiful memories with NY in their heartbeats.

We learned that Nola is definitely a country girl.  The dirtier the better, the more open the space the better. She could be as loud as she wanted to, swing high in the sky, and follow her grandma and grandpa amongst the collards, squash, and watermelons waiting to be eaten by eager mouths.  Nate, I found, is a fixer and a finder.  He just wants answers. How? Why? What? When? Who? Did you know this...? Did you see that...? Our little detective, seeker of mystery. 

Joy was the reward from the long travel.  Joy in the relationships that keep brewing.  Joy in being able to be an audience to relentless brother and sister duo, the finders and the seekers. The adventurers of Upstate NY 2014. There is a time and a place to be a homebody... and maybe I'll be a traveling homebody, taking my heart's home with  me wherever our Crawford party of 4, wanders to searching for JOY in all the memories, in all the right places, in the vine. 

John 15
1“I am the true vine, and my Father is the gardener. 2He cuts off every branch in me that bears no fruit, while every branch that does bear fruit he prunesa so that it will be even more fruitful. 3You are already clean because of the word I have spoken to you. 4Remain in me, as I also remain in you. No branch can bear fruit by itself; it must remain in the vine. Neither can you bear fruit unless you remain in me.
5“I am the vine; you are the branches. If you remain in me and I in you, you will bear much fruit; apart from me you can do nothing. 6If you do not remain in me, you are like a branch that is thrown away and withers; such branches are picked up, thrown into the fire and burned. 7If you remain in me and my words remain in you, ask whatever you wish, and it will be done for you. 8This is to my Father’s glory, that you bear much fruit, showing yourselves to be my disciples.
9“As the Father has loved me, so have I loved you. Now remain in my love. 10If you keep my commands, you will remain in my love, just as I have kept my Father’s commands and remain in his love.11I have told you this so that my joy may be in you and that your joy may be complete. 

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