H is for The True Meaning of Home

A to Z Challenge,  Memory for  H plus Week #47 GBE 2 Prompt - Home   

      Home is where the heart is.  It may sound cliche' but it is absolutely true.  My family was certainly proof that can't be denied.  Home is not defined by a house or any other structure where you may happen to live.

      In the 18 years that I lived at home, we lived in more different houses than I care to count.   To be honest, I really can't tell you exactly how many because I'm not sure how many we lived in before I was old enough to remember.  Let's just suffice to say that it was a lot.     During my first 7 years we lived in 3 different towns and the rest were spent in the first town which is the one I consider my hometown.   To give you just a slight idea of how frequently we moved - halfway through the second grade we moved to New Albany and moved back to Milltown the summer after third grade.  In that one and a half years we lived in 3 houses.  Many of our moves would be just down the street.   Enough said.

      I'm sure by now you are asking yourself why we moved around so much.  Good question.  It was never because we were vagrants or that we had to move for any logical reason.   It was simply something my mom liked to do.   She would no more than get one house fixed up perfectly until she would find another one she liked better.  So, we packed up and moved.

      Having said all this, I have to add that I had a wonderful childhood.  It never occurred to me or any of us that we had any less of a home than kids who lived in the same house all their lives because we didn't.  We were happy and loved and no matter how long we lived in a house mom and dad made it a home.   Mom always fixed a home that was warm, cozy and welcoming.  My friends always loved visiting at my house and did so quite often.   Home for us was wherever  the family was and we had the best home anyone could ask for.

Until next time...that's my view.

Kat

     

Time Makes the Heart Grow Fonder

    
    

     I grew up in a small town in Indiana.  So small that everyone went to the same school from first grade through 12th.  When I graduated high school, like many teenagers, I couldn't wait to leave home.  And that's exactly what I did.  The day after graduation I moved to Kentucky and never looked back.

      My best friend that I grew up with had already gotten married and moved on.  So had my cousin, who I had also spent a lot of time with in my early teens.   Without dwelling on the negative, I will say that I have wonderful memories of growing up until my sophomore year.  My last three years of high school were not so great.  There were some good times, but there were also a lot of painful and unhappy times.  There really was nothing left there for me and I pretty much broke all ties.    Mother and Dad lived there and I did go back to visit them, but that was it.  I had very little contact with anyone else.  I guess I thought if I broke "cold turkey" it would help erase the bad memories. 

      For many years I managed to not think much about that part of my life spent in that little town.  But then, something happened.  

I got old.  

    

     As the old saying goes, "Time heals all wounds".  Well, maybe not all, but it certainly diminishes the pain.   Aging plays funny tricks on your mind and I began to think more and more about my youth.  I started remembering things I hadn't thought about in years and wanting to find some renewed connection to my past.  

Along comes facebook.  

     Thanks to modern technology I have been able to reconnect with some old friends that are happy memories from a simpler time.  Good people who have helped me realize I have found something I never even knew I was missing.   Thank you dear friends.

     I've decided that as we get older it is natural to want to reconnect with our youth.   Not just a want, but a need.  After all, where we come from is what makes us the person we are today.   My dad has recently moved back to Milltown and I now get very nostalgic when I visit him.  Even though it has changed drastically and many of the places so dear to me in my youth are gone, it is still my hometown.   I now think of it fondly and can look back on all the wonderful times spent there.

 

Until next time...that's my view.

Kat

Dust Bunnies Can Be Warm Fuzzies

    

     Home is where the heart is;  A man's home is his castle;  There's no place like home...you've heard them all.  I love my home.  It's nothing fancy, just a small farm house where Kenneth and I live comfortably.  It's the one place in the world that I can really let my hair down, be me, with no false pretense and no one I have to impress.  It's my refuge from the world and from the storm.

     Once upon a time, when I was young and innocent, I fell victim to the brainwashing of a society that measured the worth of a woman by how clean she kept her house.   I believed that everything had to be spotless - everything had to be polished, dusted, swept, mopped or whatever else I could do to make it sparkle and shine.  

     Then, one day, it happened.  I began to have these forbidden thoughts.   What would happen if I didn't get the carpet swept one week?   Or, heaven forbid, I didn't get the furniture dusted?   What was the worst that could happen...would I be kicked out of housewives of America, or be banned from reading Good Housekeeping?    Oh, no!!!

    Gradually, over the years, I have managed to reprogram my thinking, and also my cleaning habits.  A lot of the change was out of necessity because of health problems, but much of it I contribute to coming to my senses.  I no longer feel the need to keep everything spotless.  After all, a home should look lived in.  It should be a place of comfort and relaxation.  I think of it as my free space; free from pressures and judgements; free to be a little messy if I want.

     The reality is, the world doesn't end if your house isn't as clean as it could be.  Truth is, when you are laid up following back surgery or a broken ankle, dust bunnies can become like pets.  When we are lonely, or a little down, we all like warm fuzzies that make us feel better.  Some of my warm fuzzies include a warm throw, a good book, fluffy socks, and my dust bunnies.     They are my assurance that some things in this world are just more important than a spotless house.

Until next time...that's my view.

Kat