The many faces of Homestead

​I am an English major (who never took physics) looking at physics, so bear with me….Matter is anything that has mass and occupies space, whether liquid, solid or gas. Matter can be neither created nor destroyed, so atoms are simply rearranged, according to the Law of Conservation of Mass. (My friend Chat GPT confirmed this).
 
Basically, I take this to mean that what is here changes, but does not leave us. This concept is great fun for a creative to run with.  So here I go!! 
 
When I work with my students coaching their college essays, one of our brainstorming categories is “place”. I coach them to write down the places that have great meaning for them. I have a lifetime of special places, one of them being Homestead Lane.

Look! Back in the days when you took photos and hoped they were centered/focussed...I'm on Nana's lap, half cut off from the photo.

​​When I was a year old, my grandparents retired and built a home on Cape Cod, on a street called Homestead Lane. This home became our summer spot, our holiday spot, our special place. We initially lived about 90 minutes away (pending Cape traffic), then a continent away (Brazil), and finally, an ocean away (France). What remained constant was that some of my best childhood memories were in this small abode on Homestead Lane. Nana and Grandpa had lived through two World Wars, the Influenza epidemic and the Great Depression. They relished the comparative calm of the Cold War, and doted on their ten grandchildren. It was a peaceful place filled with laughter, singing and homemade blueberry muffins (Nana somehow uncovered the coveted Jordan Marsh recipe).

Over these years, I morphed from a curious child, to an insecure teen, to a frightened young adult, so this home, that seemed frozen in time, comforted me, grounding me in mornings spent cheerfully walking around the block where we knew every neighbor, and evenings howling with laughter playing Old Maid.
 
Of course, when first Grandpa died, and Nana followed three weeks before 9/11, suddenly, Homestead Lane slipped through our fingers. Gone overnight.

​​Six years later, accepting that I may never marry or have kids, my friend Maddy influenced me to adopt a dog from the Pasadena shelter.  The minute I saw her, I realized she could only be called (first name) Homestead (middle name) Lane. Homestead Lane was an exceptional dog, and came to quickly personify the peace, the joy and the love I had felt on Homestead Lane with my grandparents. She was the embodiment of that same sense of safety and warmth that I felt on Cape Cod as a child, a teen, a young college grad.
 
Homie was an innate comfort dog, by my side as I navigated the loneliness of dating in a narcissistic city, and the rejection of an Industry based on transactions rather than talent.

​​When Jory and I started dating, he first fell in love with Homestead, then me. Homie’s heart was big enough to take him in, and then, in turn, all three of our babies, Lillie Grace, Lexi and Tyler. She was their pseudo nanny, there to catch them as they learned to walk, to corral them when they wandered off, and to cuddle them at all times. She was my sidekick as I learned to parent on the go, often overwhelmed and sleep-deprived, feeling inadequately prepared to meet the constant demands of three beautiful souls needing guidance.

​That familiar sting of bereavement hit me when she left us at the age of 15.

​

​Now four years later, Jory is realizing a life-long dream: opening an eating establishment. It’s at the foot of the Sandia Tram, Albuquerque’s number one tourist destination. (Another reason I have not been blogging lately!) Thanks to our dear friends Liz and Jim of the Great Harvest Bakery, we have the finest locally baked goods freshly made every morning. We persuaded our favorite local coffee and tea supplier to work with us. Jory has added breakfast burritos, egg bites, sandwiches, and in November will serve beer, wine and margaritas. And the view is simply breathtaking.
 
Jory named it the Homestead Café.

We have lived how corporate America is not kind to anyone over the age of 49. So, after years of economic instability and stress, we have landed, found economic footing, coming home to the Homestead Cafe.
 
That same warmth, joy and connection that was first gifted to me in a small home on a street on Cape Cod, then through a sweet shelter dog, is now manifesting in a local café with magnificent views. This is a chance to feel like we're home in the vast dry canvas that is the desert, where I’ve seen tumbleweeds and coyotes while dropping off the kids at school.  A chance to create friendships in a community that has inexplicably ghosted, gossiped, and gaslit both of our daughters. A hope to foster love in a culture that seems hell bent on tearing others down.
 
An added bonus: our daughter Lexi has discovered she is an excellent barista, and may be running the joint in ten years’ time.  If you are in Albuquerque, LMK and we can meet for a coffee.

Matter truly can never be created nor destroyed.  Even when we lose what we love, if we stay open, it will circle back to us, just in another physical form, with the atoms completely rearranged.

Please support our new endeavor. Website: https://homesteadabq.com/
​Follow us:
​Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/thehomesteadabq/
Facebook:  (search) Homestead cafe ABQ