家裏樓上三間房，女兒這間雖不大，卻朝向東南，又沒有西曬，是三間裏最冬暖夏涼的。雖說加州的冬天並不算冷，然而當晨光照進屋內，這種溫暖誰都身心向往，無法抵擋。
女兒自上大學後，房間就一直空著。今年冬天比較冷，一日某人走進女兒的陽光之屋，突然間起念要搬進來。對比他朝西的房間，冬天照不到太陽，夏天西曬厲害，真是有點天壤之別。故此，他將自己的電腦，家夥都搬了過來，連同被褥，這樣有時還可以睡在房間裏。占據之後，某人感慨地說，怎麽沒早點想到搬進來，真是浪費了這麽多年大好的冬日暖陽了。
他把女兒的書架、桌麵整得幹幹淨淨，又開始在靠窗的書櫃麵上擺滿了他的試驗產品，瓶瓶罐罐地養起他最心愛的moss，又在小小的魚缸裏養水草，蝸牛，準備哪天東山再起--養魚。
女兒想家了，訂了下周末回家的機票，準備回家過三四天。那日我倆說起女兒的歸程，我說你就不用搬來搬去了，她在家也就幾天功夫，我另外準備幹淨的被褥，她睡哪兒都行。
昨日爬山歸途中，兩人又提及這個話題。 不料某人說，還是清了吧， 讓她知道這房間永遠給她留著，任何時候回家，家還是她的家，房間還是她的房間。 我聽之，不僅心頭一熱。某人有時比我心細，對女兒的愛一樣是滿滿的。
Ever since she left for college, her room was kept intact without many changes. A long white wall was adorned with her two paintings, a pair of pointed ballet shoes on vigorous legs, and a silhuette of a young ballerina in her ballooned puffy dress. Hung on the other two walls are a family picture with flowery iron frame, and an enlarged picture of her own, a cute chubby toddler. Down beneath is a twin-size bed, with hard mattress as she prefers. Next to the bed is a low book shelf, with a lamp standing on the top that feeds light if she needs to read at night. Outside the window are roof tops layered by faded red tiles, down and beyond which are a sizeable piece of lawn and a street flanked by trees, some towering, some leafy. When spring comes, the tree extended from the left front flowers with fluffy ball-shaped pink, its lengthy willow-like branches dancing in the wind. It is a room with a view.
We moved in more than ten years ago, when she was still in her elementary school. I don’t know how she remembers her years in the room. But my memory is inundated with her stressful days in high school, when she worked very late into the night, and I, who woke up in the wee hours, had to check from the bottom of the door if the light in the room was still on…
Time fleets by. The room has been without her for almost six years. Her frequency of flying back home decreased gradually from four times a year to once a year, now that she started her job in a farther northern city. Being used to empty-nestedness, we began to enjoy the life without her. We are no longer sentimental. Over the years, I boxed most of her stuff in the garage, books, notebooks, binders, souvenirs so that they won’t collect dust on the shelves. But everything else stays the same. The clean beddings, the teddy bears by the pillow, are there any time she comes back.
One cold winter day, as he entered her sunny room to take care of the plants by the window, an idea popped up in his mind. He wanted to move into the room, where sunlight showered through the window, a striking contrast to his cold north-faced room. The move was instant, with computers set up, even his own beddings for his day or night rests. Along with the move came more jars, pots and a tank with water plants that he has heen testing to resume his dream of raising fish. The joy of living in a sunny warm room was self-evident, and his only regret was not to move in earlier.
A usual Saturday morning after the sweaty hiking, he asked me in the car when our daughter would be home. Next Friday night, I replied. I know his concern, reassuringly telling him not to worry about the room change, as she would only stay home for four nights, and I can make ready a new clean bed. Unexpectedly, he insisted that the room would have to be back to the original state, only cleaner and more lively with the new plants. It is the sense of belongings or a feeling that matters, he said, i.e., wherever she goes, and however long she is away, the home is the home. And she has a permenant place in the family, in our hearts.
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