My Home

Home is a small yellow house down a dusty country road. It’s not the house I live in though; it’s the house of Grandma Dolores. Grandma’s house is surrounded by red barns, corrals, and two swing sets. It has bold colored 70s shag carpet and wood paneling everywhere. I have moved countless times since I was little and have had homes on both sides of the state, but my grandma’s house is the one place that never changes. It will always be the place I call home.

Home is the smell of cinnamon, and perfume, and grain, and love, and sheep, and security and roasted turkey. My grandma’s house is where I feel safe; where I can be completely who I am and not worry about what others think. Home is little lambs hopping on my belly and tugging at my snow pants as I lie in the sheep barn. It’s a place where I can laugh until I am snorting and cry like I’ll never stop. Home is Grandma Dee who never gets mad and dozes in the blue velvet chair every afternoon. It’s where I can sit and do nothing and not feel the need to be anyone but who I am. It’s a walk through knee-high grass where for miles I can see nothing but sky and sheep and life. Home is watching late night television and eating ice cream with Uncle Geno. It’s picking eggs and sledding down tractor-made hills. My home is wrapping paper wars on Christmas Eve and basement musical productions.

Grandma Dee’s house is where I feel safe, loved, and relaxed. My mind teems with cherished memories of dinners, games, and family discussions. Dorothy’s home may have been a farmhouse in Kansas, but when I click my ruby slippers together I want to return to the home of my heart, Grandma Dee’s country home.

A Symbol of Love

It’s small and silver with small grooves ingrained along its sides. Even though it’s not a necessary part of my wardrobe, I hate when I forget to put it on. I twist it round and round when I am bored during a class or am waiting for a friend. In the summer a small ring of white glows against my sun-darkened skin when I take it off. It has four square turquoise stones and an oval violet stone in the middle. My most treasured article I wear is my ring from my parents.

My ring is more important than a piece of jewelry; it is a constant reminder of my parent’s love. When I turned sixteen my parents gave me my ring for my birthday. Even though I knew it was coming, as my parents bought my sister her ring when she turned sixteen, I gasped with joy when I pulled it from its small gray box. They bought it during their trip to Alaska, and it is so special in that they chose it especially for me. They knew the colors I loved and the style that fit my personality. I lost it in the locker room after a volleyball game once and spent the ride home on the bus crying. Some people didn’t understand; it’s just an object, nothing really important they said. But for me my ring isn’t just a chunk of metal that can be pawned for some quick cash, it is an everyday reminder of my parents love and the hopes they have for me.

Dancing Dream

This summer I decided to make a list of some major life goals; not the traditional ones I know I will accomplish like finishing college and getting a job, but crazy goals that are really important to me. Some of my goals are small like learning photography and visiting my Grandma’s house in Ireland and our family hotel in the Basque country, Euskerra. Other goals are a little grander, like moving to New York City and becoming fluent in Spanish. The one dream, though, that seems very crazy but one of the most exciting is my dream to learn salsa and ballroom dancing and to dance in a competition.

Growing up I was always in dance; I did ballet, tap, and jazz dance. Dancing is freeing and always puts me in a good mood. (Here, I even have the occasional dorm-room dance party when I need a break from work.) I have seen many movies about dancing, but my latest favorite is Dirty Dancing: Havana Nights. In this movie the main couple dances in a Latin ballroom competition, and I sat mesmerized the first time I watched it. The music, swirling dresses, and quick rhythms were amazing. Salsa dancing is packed with emotion and ballroom dancing is so elegant and filled with romance. I hope some day to learn how to do both and then sign up for a competition. Nothing like the World Cup of ballroom or anything, just an amateur competition where I can dance with a number pinned to my back and wear a glittering Lycra costume. Next semester I want to take Salsa dancing as a class which puts me a step closer to my dream. And that’s what dreams are for, actually making them come to life.