Home Again Home Again Jiggity Jog

Originally posted on myspace August 23, 2005

So, I'm married now. To those of you who were at the wedding, thank you so much for attending. To those of you who were not: It broke my heart not to be able to invite everybody. Unfortunately the fire marshall had some crazy ideas about how many people could be in that one building, and Val has more family than Father Abraham. The whole experience was lovely, and thank god it's over.

Ladies if you want to cure cold feet just involve the groom in some wedding decisions. I promise by week two the only thought in his head will be "elope". I offered to Val's dad. He and I were in the back seat of his car and Val and her mother were riding up front. I turned to him and said, "By my count, you're going to spend about $##### dollars on this wedding." "That's about right" he said. "Tell you what," I rejoined, "if you pay me half now, in cash or check, we'll elope tommorrow." Mr. Father-In-Law's face split into a smile as he reached for his check book, and then he and I both noticed that the temperature had dropped about 60 degrees. I snuck a glance up front and met Val's eyes. Her look could have curdled cream. It was horrifying, but it spared me from seeing her mom who was radiating murderous intent. I don't know what that woman looked like in that instance, but Lord knows I'm a better man for having missed it. Needless to say, the wedding went as planned.

And it was wonderful. Everything we had hoped for. As was the honeymoon.

Now we're back in L.A., re-settling after a two-week absence. There's something odd about coming home. My parent's house always felt like home, no matter where I was living at the time. After the honeymoon, Val and I stayed at my parents for two nights before driving back to L.A.. And suddenly, it wasn't home any more. Our parents (both mine and Val's) treated us different. It was very subtle, I don't think they knew they were doing it, but there was a detachment there. Somehow our status changed in the eyes of our parents; maybe it was a new found respect of privacy, or a final nail in the coffin of our childhood. Whatever it was there was an unspoken cutting of ties, an air of "my work here is done". And in that realization, that turbulent groping for realignment of relationship between parents and children, I could not help but feel orphaned. Not in a negative way by any means, but suddenly my home, my place of security and being for that majority of my life wasn't mine anymore. It has become my parent's home, and I just a visitor, a stranger on familiar shores-- welcomed, accepted, but no longer belonging. Val tells me she feels the same way about her parent's home, and in that first night in Houston after the honeymoon we held each other and she cried softly in my arms as feelings of sadness tinted our new found joy.

The drive back was exhausting as we drove straight through the night, taking turns driving. It was with the relief of the weary that we stumbled into our Van Nuys apartment. As one we collapsed on the bed and Val said, "We're home." And laying there, dog tired, I realized she was right. This dingy apartment felt like home. And once more, it was ours; we had built it together, arranged the furniture, fixed the leaks, tiled the porch. Somehow, as we cast aside the strings of the old, the new, which had been there all along, was able to burst forth in it's own glory un-shadowed, un-challenged by wistful memory. I reached out my hand, finding hers amid the rumpled comforter, and clasp it tightly. "Yes", I said, "we're home."