December 31, 1996

I am finally sitting down - oh it feels good. I'd forgotten that this frame can be supported by something other than my feet, in a position other than upright, bent over, kneeling or contorting to reach that tiny space behind the radiators. I reached them all today and I am now knowledgeable about every corner, every dent, every dip in our apartment's hardwood floors. I've gotten personal with the seams in the closet, cursed the dings in the thresholds and caught myself having a conversation with the nails along the wall boards. "My how stubby you look. Shall I extract you with force, or will you come willingly."

John and I arn't obligated to refinished the hardwood floors here. We're doing them because our landlord, who is 77 years old and who has a terrible cold, probably won't get to them before Saturday (our move in date).

The time to do these things, I always tell John, is as soon as you move in, or in this case, before. Otherwise two years down the road we'll be looking at those worn down, ratty floor boards saying, "I should re-do these one day." And of course never doing them. The longer you wait, the less incentive.

"We'll be moving soon anyway."

One day if we did decide to undertake the task, inevitably we would move as soon as that last coat of urythane dried.

We left an apartment over a year and a half ago with bare walls, now we are returning to bare walls. The cycle completes itself. We got used to telling people that we had no home. But we still used those words "Let's go home" and it meant back to our tent or our van. So I guess whether it's within four walls or within vinyl and plastic, home really is where you hang your hat.

My Grandmother always says, "As long as you have your health..." I'll add to that and say that as long as you have a place to lay your head...you have a home."