Here

 

Momma deer with her two fawns

“Here!” (Eighth grade roll call, we had to say it loud and clear or face the consequences.)

“I’m here,” I said, arriving late to work.

Here is where I’ll stand.

Present

My spot

My place

My home

This is where I’ll be if you need me. Right here (points to feet).

“You are here,” written on hundreds of park and zoo maps of the places I’ve visited.

“Right here,” said my mom pointing to a dot on the atlas. “This is where we should be.”

-

Here is present.

Here is reality as I know it.

Here, right now, I type on my old laptop that needs replacement, a view of dark skies beginning to brighten as the sun approaches again, but this time with no clouds.

Here is my desk, my day timers, my to-do lists, my notes for several devotionals and books, my mom’s novel that needs editing so we can publish it.

Here there are several desk lamps illuminating my work in amber light.

Here is a view of my yarn stashed in various clear totes organized somewhat by color.

Here, covered in projects, is also my sewing machine, which emerges with the first snow fall.

Here is where the fish tank ended up with its three occupants after all the children moved out.

Here is where three, then two of my girls shared a room with bunk beds and art still painted on the ceiling.

Here are shelves and cabinets of office supplies, copies of my books to sell or give away, blank notebooks of many kinds purchased on clearance, and art supplies.

Here is where I made phone calls and wrote stories for Richland Source online newspaper. Here is where I tried several other online employments, none of which went anywhere, but all of which taught me something.

Here is where I study. Here is where several first drafts of novels were composed in Novembers past. (National Novel Writing Month)

Here are my current financial records, check books, receipts, envelopes, paper, stamps, sticky address labels, and bills.

Here is a small collection, part of a larger collection, of devotionals, Bibles, notebooks, and prayer books.

Here is the desk my husband created for me, built into the wall, sturdy enough for his six-foot-two frame to stand on. It’s not going anywhere.

Here a variety of artwork graces the walls in a sort of eclectic way, wood carvings, mixed media on canvas, wall stickers, tiny cut-out butterflies, a set of Christmas paintings created on a mother-daughter paint night, and a curio shelf with gifts given to me by my grown children.

Also here is where we stash stuff when company is on the way. Here is where I keep the boxes we took from my mom’s house as they await going-through. Here is the part-time residence of the new vacuum and a box of frames. And here, top shelf, is where I keep the Christmas cards.

Here is my happy place, chaotic though it is most of the time. Here is where the gifts are wrapped, the poems composed, the prayers uttered.

Here is me.