A House Is Not A Home

I'm sipping on Twinings Lapsang Souchong tea. I never used to drink hot tea. Of course I have the obligatory thimble-full when eating sushi or when I'm at a Chinese food restaurant. But I never used to drink it with any kind of regularity. I remember that was the only kind of tea my mom had growing up. I don't think I even know there were different flavors of tea until I got to college. It just didn't occur to me that the world didn't drink Lapsang Souchong. It used to come in a deep purple box with deep purple tea pouches. When I came out to Vegas over a decade ago I couldn't find it. I thought it was like Usinger's Fresh Liver Sausage or Bylery's Wild Rice - only found in Minnesooootah. But a couple months ago I found it at a Grazier's. It's no Bylery's but it'll do. 

I had a great childhood. It was full of the typical teenage angst but on the whole it was pretty perfect. The older I get the more certain memories surface. I remember being really young, like maybe 4 or 5 and watching my dad shave before work. He sprayed a dollop of shaving cream into his left hand and patted it on his face. It reminded me of whip cream. Every once in a while he'd put some on me. Every time he ran the blade down his face he turned to me with a warm wash cloth and removed the foam from the same place on my cheek. I'm sure lots of little girls have that memory with their dads. I'm quite certain it's not unique. But it's a memory that keeps coming back to me.

When my parents moved out of my childhood home it was pretty traumatic for me. I felt like I was the only one in my family who felt like that. "Don't you feel bad?" I asked my mom. "Sure it's sad but we've been here a long time. It's time to let it go." She was right of course. Nothing is permanent. A House Is Not A Home. I hadn't lived at home for several years when they moved but I was still heartbroken. I wrote a letter to the new owners detailing some of the memories I had in that house. I said that to them it was probably just another house but to me it was the only home I had ever known. I became me in that house. I taped the hand written two page letter on the inside of the door of the laundry chute. I knew the new owners would eventually find it but not right away. I never heard from anyone who may have read the letter. I didn't expect to. My only regret is that I didn't keep a copy of it. But maybe that's for the best. Some memories are meant to be just that.