Danville

The house I grew up in- mind you, our garden was MUCH better managed then!

Danville is a beautiful place. If you remember last year, I wrote a post about some of my feelings of hurt that had been associated with the place the I grew up. After two therapeutic trips to California, I think I can say that I enjoy going back to visit again. It's so weird though, sitting in a car outside of the home I grew up in, and knowing that it's not mine. I know every corner of that house. I still remember that there were 16 stairs, which meant 16 portions of banister that needed dusting as a child. I still remember the feel of the mauve carpet in my bathroom, and I remember how it felt to stub my toe getting out of the shower if you didn't lift your foot high enough. I wish that there was a way to tally up the hours spent sitting on the blue spinny chair at the island in the kitchen. How many times did I slip off my shoes at the front door before tip-toeing upstairs, trying to slip one past mom and dad?

Still, Danville was good to me, and I'm so grateful that I can recognize that again, instead of feeling resentful and hurt. I took a few pictures as we drove down the road, just so I could remember the beauty that I saw on a day to day basis, but didn't appreciate. I try to do better with that now. I look at the mountains that dominate the skyline right outside my front door. I marvel at the contrast of colors everywhere I look, and I try to point out the beauty in the simple day to day to Hazen. I've been so blessed to always be surrounded by beauty, and I will continue to work to make whereever we live a wonderful home for my little boy.