Home

When people talk about wanting to go "home," it is not so much the physical space of the house as much as it is the idea of what that place means to them. In my memories, home was a place of thought, and open idea sharing. It was a comfortable existence that included love, and discipline, but mostly love, and always--- thought. Here my confidence was built, my life was started, the stones of my personal foundation were laid.

In this idea I smell supper cooking, I here my sisters talking, and my father coming through the front door to greet my Mother. Instruments were played, voices were raised, and thousands of pages of books were turned. The downstairs was my domain, my restaraunt, my entertainment room, my library.

In my mind I'm always going home, although my body hasnt followed lately. I am there in thought and reflection, and that is what sustains me and provides comfort when needed. So I guess I would disagree with those who say " you can't ever go home," I go there daily and that makes all the difference.