home

Generally speaking, people refer to the places in which they live as their homes. I call my home in Dubuque "home", but I also call my parent's house and Justin's parents house "home." 

In my younger, more dramatic years[....] when distraught I'd often cry I want to go home. And that was always to this place. The A-frame log cabin on Lake Huron. Still when I dream of home, it's here majority of the time. Is that how one qualifies home? The place that you visit the most in your subconscious? 

When will it stop being my home? Where I can relax in peace. I could sit at the bottom of the steps for hours and study the logs that build these walls or watch the waves as they slowly lap against the sand. I look around its sad, gutted walls and I still see the old pictures of us when we were younger. The ghost of my parent's wedding picture hangs in the hallway until I turn to examine it. I can hear the end of the Tiger's game as I drift to sleep, until I realize it is silent downstairs. 

Even if this place won't be here for me forever, I can visit it in my mind whenever I want. Is that the same, though?

I love this picture. It looks like it was taken 30 years ago. 

The view from "my spot" at the table. 

The view of the lake from the dining room. 

Wallpaper on the ceiling people. It's a thing. 

Best mirror for plucking eyebrows or doing makeovers. Ignore my awkward face. Clearly I'm blowing a bubble with my gum. Also, Lady insisted on being a part of this. 

The view from the bottom of the stairs. Already so different from what it used to be. 

Perilous stairs. 

Map of the bay.