I never thought of the apartments that I lived in when I was single as home. It was just a place to go to after work, sleep, shower and eat and have friends over. After Rick and I married, that old 12x60 foot trailor, with the orange shag carpet......well there were times that it felt like home, but many times no, once again it was a place to eat, sleep, have friends over.....but it seldom felt like home.
After we built our house, my thoughts of home began to change. I still thought of my parent's place(even though it was not where I had grown up) of being home.......but this place began to feel different. As the trees grew, as our personalities began to show in our belongings, I planted flowers, I painted the front door purple, this house began to feel like home. I think our roots started to finally grow.
When we went to Ireland, from the moment I stepped off the plane I felt at home. On the plane home, before we left the tarmac at Shannon Airport, there were tears streaming down my face
because I was homesick.......for Ireland, for home.
In Telluride this summer, once again......I felt as though I was home. Walking the sidewalks, talking with the locals, breathing that fresh clean mountain air......I was home.
So, now I think......I have many homes. Since my parents have died, that home no longer exists......only in my memories. But I have come to realize that home is not a building or even a place......it's a feeling. Home can be the desert sands of New Mexico, or snow covered Colorado mountains, a sofa at your best friend's house, the floor of a tiny cold water flat in New York City,
on the stage at a pub in Tullamore. Home can be a crowded city street or a place where no one knows your name. It doesn't matter where it is, as long as it feels like home. Feels safe, happy, warm and loving, you feel as though you belong........feels like home to me.
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It is funny, but my family moved to California from Canada when I was six. I returned to Canada when I was 17 and thought to myself, "I am home."
ReplyDeleteI don't understand why, but I feel at home near mountains and pine trees. I wish I lived inside the forest itself, but I live in a city. The forest feels like home to me more than any other place.
Jilda...I am, at present, living in my 15th 'home'. The first couple of moves were made by my parents, then I moved from the UK to Canada to marry. Together, hubby and I began buying houses, renovating them and moving until we decided an expat life was calling. Then it was four more homes in four different countries before moving back to Canada. We are in our third home here and I'm not sure either of us is finished. I think what keeps compelling us (me) to move on is the search for 'home'. I've can honestly say I haven't found it yet.
ReplyDeleteYour post does makes me wonder if I've been looking in all the wrong places. My kids (grown) still say that wherever we (their parents) are is home. Perhaps, as you state, home is not a place.
I always told Ron that he was my home.
ReplyDeleteI will always think of the house I grew up in as "home". My Mom still lives there. My Father built it in 1951 and I know after Mom passes my Sister will live there. When I was 10 we had a fire there that destroyed the upper level. I remember Dad standing on the lawn and me crying next to him...he said that the house was just a building that will be rebuilt, but the important thing was that all of us were OK because that is what makes it a home..so I agree with you that it's the people we share that "house" with that make it special.
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