I have a happy place–a place in which to escape when things get crazy.

It is my home place in Monticello, my house that dad built with his own hands.  That house and the two people that gave me my life are the anchors to my happiness.  When things get tough, I close my eyes and mentally walk through the house and visualize mama in the kitchen and daddy out back working on his truck.

Daddy had an old 1936 International pick up truck, which he tore down and rebuilt the engine.  He would laugh when he told on himself.  He put the engine back together and had left over parts, but it ran just fine.  It is the silly little simple things like this that make me smile.

Mom and dad are long gone, but the house still stands.  I actually own it, though it is leased to a woman who seems to be taking good care of it.  I get a bill every once in a while for a repair, but it doesn’t amount to much.  Daddy built a good house.

I like to go home frequently, and by home I mean Monticello.  There is a genealogy room in the local county library; and it is manned with volunteers, people I’ve known almost all of my life.

My husband thinks that I really go just to get my fix of Monticello.  He is probably right.

This, too, has become a happy place for me–a treasured Wednesday event.

Do you have a happy place?