Dreams really do come true. Keep dreaming!
There truly is no place like home. And I don’t need a pair of red sparkly shoes to know that it’s true. I repeat the words almost like a mantra whenever I return from too many days away, and sometimes after an exceptionally long day or week at work. To me, a day or Saturday at home isn’t just sweet – it’s pure bliss.
I’m thinking there may be as many definitions for the word home as there are people living on earth. Webster’s defines home as one’s place of residence, the social unit formed by a family living together, and a familiar or usual setting. But my favorite definition is – a place of origin. Home is where my story began years ago, and it’s where it continues today.
I love my home. It isn’t large or fancy, but it’s perfect for me. I love the colors of the rooms – mustard yellow and cranberry, sage green and wedding white, chimney red, pumpkin, and Tiffany blue. I love the notches and pencil markings on the edge of my bathroom door that notes my daughter’s race to be taller than her mama – she now is. I love the back hall printer drawers that hold tiny treasures from places visited throughout the years. I love my attached garage, and backyard patio, and retractable clothesline. And I especially love my bedroom and studio, my chalkboard door, and the Scrabble tiles that spell a message on my refrigerator.
I love the smell of my home too. My favorite smells are in fall, with the crisp coolness of temperatures and leaves dropping. I start getting ready to hibernate and pull out the assorted afghans and throws, and put fresh flannel sheets on my beds, and start burning assorted pumpkin and cinnamon spice candles. With garlands of leaves on my piano and over window sills, my home seems to celebrate this magical time of year.
Through the years, as I boxed up and moved my life and possessions from one address to another, my definition of home may have changed along with my zip code, but some things always remained constant – mainly my profound gratitude to have a place to call my own. If I ever move again, I will look for a place that has some of the same qualities I love about my current home. I’ll try and choose a street name that has a nice sound to it, and I’ll follow my practice of not looking at any places I really can’t afford, so I’ll be content with what I can. I will carefully pack up all the truly important pieces of my life and most certainly bring along the printer drawers and the Scrabble tiles. And until then, I will continue to count my many blessings – for all that I have, and for this sweet place I call home.