Wait. Grandma and Grandpa have been dead for years. The house is not in the family anymore - I'm in a studio by the beach in Venice. There's no snow here. As I woke up it sunk in - it was my upstairs neighbor (the web-wonk for KCRW) walking around. There is no home, no snow - and never will be again. For just that fleeting second I had felt safe, secure - cared for... home. I hadn't felt it in years and years. It had been so long I'd forgotten the feeling. Losing it so quickly, feeling it evaporate like fog at dawn... christ it was wrenching. I profoundly wanted to be home again - home in the little red house halfway up the hill, at the base of the big stand of friendly woods. Home with my Mom there, and Grandma and Grandpa puttering around after I'd gone to bed, and my sisters asleep in the other room. Home where there were sleds leaning against the wall on the back porch, waiting for new snow. Home with grilled cheese sandwiches and Campbell's tomato soup on a schoolday. Home with Mom's snickerdoodle cookies, and Ruby the cat, and Pooh the dog. Just home. Home.
I almost wish I hadn't remembered what it felt like to be home. Losing it so quickly cut deep.