It is where I can let my guard down, speak without fear of being unloved or unwanted for my thoughts or beliefs. Behind these walls I can walk around all day in pajamas, no bra and crazy bed head. I can cry in the shower, mourn losses or regrets over bottles of wine, buckets of chocolate and bags of salt & vinegar chips without condescending looks. It is where I can laugh until snot runs out my nose and I can’t catch my breath. Home is where I can lock myself away for hours in the craft room without explanation, listen to music at full volume or sit in silence watching the snow fall. Home is where I can hide away, pounding on a keyboard, alone with my thoughts and words. It is a place filled with over flowing trinkets and treasures, a living museum of all the personalities abiding in these rooms. Home is where my husband and children come back to each night, sleep soundly in their beds and rise the next morning. It is where we share meals and stories. It is where arguments erupt and forgiveness is found. This place is where unconditional love abounds, blanketing every thought, word or deed. It is where my children sneak into our room, hiding from a bad dream or scary storm. Home is late night movie marathons, popcorn kernels found underfoot in the dark and sticky counter-tops that make me cringe. Home is where my children’s friends converge on the weekend, pull up swivel chairs and let me in on all their secrets. It is where my friends come to gather, leave the daily grind behind them, bask in the low light of vanilla scented candles and fill their bellies with home-cooked food.
Home is where I remember my grandma singing hymns in her favorite rocking chair, the presence of DW’s grandmother in her worn china cabinet that now holds books, my grandfather’s spirit in a painting he stroked or his wine rack in my kitchen. Home is where I see the loving craftsmanship of my father-in-law, gifted to us in almost every room. It is house-warming presents, anniversary presents, birthday presents and “just because” presents from loved ones and weekend painting parties with best friends. Home features art from trips we took, memories hanging on walls, daily reminders of time spent together.
Home is where I want to be at the end of a long day, a long week or a long year. It is where I picture growing old with DW, my grandchildren coming to visit and filling the house with the smells of chocolate chip cookies and Thanksgiving dinners. This home is the first place my husband and I bought together, carved out a place of our own, filled each nook and cranny with care and purpose.
I just can’t picture home, my home, any other way.