I may have posted previously on my home away from home in Puglia. But it holds such a dear place in my heart that it begs for more screen time. So, I oblige and give you more of my second home.
The home that my mom was raised in and lived in up until she married by father at the age of 18. The home that I ate many home-cooked meals, celebrated birthdays, holidays, nights spent sleeping on the floor because there were too many of us and not enough beds, nights lying on the roof stargazing, the sidewalk around it where I jumped around countless times, the steps at the front door that I sat on while listening to the ladies gossiping. The number of footsteps taken walking to and from this special place, the numerous sighs of contentment breathed just for being in this home, the echo of laughter and even shouting bouncing around the walls and the tears shed upon having to leave it.
I love this home.
I love the old floor tiles, they were a pain to clean and were so marked up with wear over the years, but I adored them anyway. Not hard to imagine why since they were of my favorite flower.
The walls covered in pictures, both old and new and bring a smile to my face recalling their stories. A kitchen that is always overflowing with food, most of which is given to us by the sweetest of family and neighbors.
The steps with the crazy number of potted plants lining your way to the roof, a special place for all to escape to...
...or just to hang the clothes.
The little attic that is home to such personal items that will always remain in our hearts regardless of the wear and tear coming to them through the years.
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