Joe, that's a beautiful poem. Very visual for me.
Gravy, what a sad story. "the rocks atop a small island" seems like such a light in that text.
Joe...
Your words have brought tears to my eyes.
Again.
What can I say?...........
I am touched by gravy's portrayal and Joe Nation's poem.
I am thinking that in a way I carry home with me. I think of myself as a citizen of the world, although that sounds more political than I mean it. And I have a tendency to nest, if I stop for a moment somewhere. There is a picture of me as a child with some toys lined up. Not a lot, three I think, but I see it now as putting my little space in order.
The fact that I am not rushing to do that where I am now, not getting out and painting the house, is a sign of disturbance in my usual nesting behavior.
Ah, but building nests isn't quite what dlowan meant, or is it.
The smell of lavender and the vision of the sunny blue room...memories of beginning safety and beauty....are surely part of what we mean by home.
As that passes into the long ago and unobtainable, we sometimes use decorating, in whatever form, even if it is arranging to have a comfortable chair by a sunny window, as a way to make new steps, new comforts, to tie us.
Wow, people!
It seems this question has touched a chord for many people - lovely responses.
Weird, wacky, woeful day at work - no time to respond properly to each of you....be back tomorrow....
Ossobuco - I know exactly how you feel about the home you remodeled and then sold. We lived in a small house in SE Texas for 11 years. Our children were born while we lived there. Back in '91 I thought I didn't like the area anymore, and got a case of the wanderlust. We set out on my big adventure that ultimately found us here in sandland. A few vacations ago we went back to Texas, and visited our old next door neighbor, who is the Godfather of our oldest son. Looking at what had happened to our old house, that we had put so much work into, was just heartbreaking.
And the funny thing is, even though back then I was looking forward to leaving Texas, when I daydream now, what I hope for is to go back to something similar to what we had.
I guess the moral of the story is to learn to be happy with what you have.
Wonderful poem Joe, and gravy's story is so poignant...I am starting to consider that if there is food in the fridge and laundry in a pile, it feels like home.
And beer in the fridge as well...or a wine perfectly matched to a proper dinner while watching a spectacular sunset...
London is my home, every square inch of it. I grew up, went to school in Wimbledon, S/W London. The whole of London, every square inch was my home, playground and where I worked.
I explored it avidly & got to know like the back of my hand. These days it's a madhouse, where residents, commuters, toursits fill the place day in & day out and I love the place. It's vibrant, cosmopolitan & offers just about everything many people want. My roots, heart and soul are there. I've moved away a few times, primarily cos of work. but I then get homesick and there is only one thing to do. Get my arse back where it belongs. Now I live in a prosperous town 35 miles north of central London. A 45 minute train ride that I did every day for several years prior to retirering. To parody an old line --------
you can take me out of London but you can't take London out of me
dlowan...abysses, herds of pigs....I get it....we all do..... please stop...the laughter is hurting my head...
:wink:
Er, does that mean you did, or didn't, get it? You being sarcastical, or plainsical?
I drive past the first home I owned quite often, it is on the way to a shopping centre I use quite a lot, I still feel as though it is mine, and I worry about whether it is being properly loved and such! I am especially concerned about "my" garden, which cannot be seen at all from the front of the house!
Pathetic, no?
> Where is your home?
I don't know ...
<sad apologetic kinda smile>
ORIGINS
Being well traveled, I am often asked, "Where are you from?" For ease of conversation I usually respond with the location of my last residence or "Well, I'm originally from...." This gives the person a stickpin to place in their cerebral map. It gives them a point of origin to locate me. Every one is from somewhere. Yet, it's a shallow response. Where I'm from is not geographic. I'm from experiences of the past, friends I've embraced, emotions I've had, dark places of the soul, sparkling pastures of the heart. I'm from 56 years of life.
If they ask, "Where are you going?" I can only answer, "I don't know, my heart hasn't let me know yet."
Actually the Shenendoah Valley in Virginia.
I have 20, or so ottter statues or whatever you'd call them and I saw that someone else was using the blowing ear basset so I decided to go with the otter until....
I travel around alot. My home is where my car is!
Maui is nice, pueo, but I'm closterphobic, so that's out for me. I actually like where we are living now in Silicon Valley, but it's pretty expensive to live here, and I'm ready to move as soon as my wife say's "let's go!" Many of our friends are selling their homes here, and moving to the central valley where home prices are much more reasonable. They sell their home for $700 thou to one mill, then buy a new home for about $300 thou, and pocket the rest for their retirement. Sounds good to me!
I am homeless. Always have been -- always will be. When I'm near the water, I'm driftwood; when I'm in the desert, I'm a tumbleweed; I'm seeds blowin' in the wind. Pray for me.
kerver, WELCOME to A2K. My car hardly gets used, because in retirement, there is little need. I think I'm averaging about 5,000 miles a year.
