home equals love

Today is our third anniversary. My husband and I have been married three years. Wow.
(and of course as life gets in the way on the day you want to celebrate. tonight I taught yoga and we have to be up at 4 tomorrow so I can get to the airport so we will both be in bed soon. we celebrated Monday.)

I know that even as I search for the meaning of this word home, I am certain of one thing.
Home is love. Home is the space that rests between my husband and me; it is what we created when we decided to come together in this life.

I gave him a collage on wood created by Swirly Girl. (I will take a picture when I return from my trip so you all can see it.) It is called Wandering - the words say:

i was lost
and
wandering
ever so slightly
aimlessly
But then I found you
and I was home.

[ever so slightly]

This is it (of course). Home equals love. Home IS where the heart is. I am finding my way and I am home.

Still, I seek understanding of the home of childhood. That family before this one I live in now (meaning the "now" family of my husband, millie the golden, and me).
But I take a breath and know that I am home.
And I am blessed.

(I hope to be able to post a few notes here and there while I am gone. But if I can't, I will be back early next week.)

gilmore girls. mom and daughter finally reconnect. daughter says i'm sorry. mom says kid, you have no idea.

home.

On a sidenote. I LOVE BLOGGING. I find myself reflecting so much more in the midst of the chaos of life. Thinking "I could blog about that or that..." So good.

a myth?

(this was really Monday's post but the site was down when I was ready to post)

Home. A place where you feel safe. Respected. Loved (no matter what). You don't need make-up. Imperfections are embraced. There is no judgment (and when there is, you talk about it as much as you can). The truth is spoken, even when it is hard. You are invited to be your best self. Forgiven for the moments when you are not. No score is kept. There may be laughter, tears, joy, and grief. And someone to hold your hand through all of them.
Home is that deep satisfied sigh a dog makes as it rests its head on your knee.
Home should be more simple and less drama.
Home is doing the best you can and being loved for it.

I don't think the words above are the myth of home. I think they are the truth of home. The home we hope for, strive for, try to create.

I have often wished for a place that felt like home and included my parents. Read: the image of "home for the holidays." This has become more apparent to me because of the distance that now separates us. We used to only be an hour away from each other. The distance now gives me the opportunity to "go home" but it doesn't feel like that is what I will be doing Thursday.

So what is that place? This place I will be going for the weekend. My hometown? The place where my parents live? An opportunity to let go of the desire for the "home for the holidays" myth? Is home a state of being or a place? Something different for each of us? A myth? A truth?

I give myself permission to uncover my own truth. No judgment. And guilt, you are not invited.

home

On Thursday I am heading back to Indiana for a quick visit. See each of my parents, go to a Notre Dame football game with my dad, spend one or two days working/training with the woman who hires me to edit.
As I look to this weekend, I am thinking about the idea of home. Am I going home?
What is home to me?
I think I want to spend some time thinking about this over the next few days - maybe make it a theme for the week here on my blog.
I spend a lot of time stuffing my thoughts/feelings about this subject. Maybe it is time to take a peak. Stay tuned.

You can never go home again, but the truth is you can never leave home, so it's all right.
Maya Angelou

feeling "buggy"

I am fighting off some kind of bug this week...so I will leave you with the wise words of a great woman and go back to bed.

Inside myself is a place where I live all alone, and that's where I renew my springs that never dry up.
Pearl Buck

the green alien

Fears.
I would never describe myself as fearless.
At least fearless with my physical body.
I am envious of people who have tried things that scare them.
I am envious of people who have hobbies that might put them in "danger."
I don't ski, rollerblade, ice skate, water ski, dive, climb trees, climb mountains.
I don't like trust falls. Ever.
But this summer, for some reason, the most natural thing in the world to me was to get into this little basket attached to this big poofy thing and fly.
Fantastic.

It was not scary. At all.
It was beautiful. And as we went up I laughed and laughed with joy.
I went up twice.

I am working on it.
Being fearless.
Working on it.

voting

I voted.
Love that feeling.
Placing your ballet in the machine.
Watching it get sucked up and counted.
Love it.
Proud and honored to have this right.
We must never forget how lucky we are.

missing you

I have been dreaming about you. Over the last few weeks.
Sometimes you know that you are gone. Other times, I have to tell you. Always there are tears.
Early this morning, I had one of the ones where I have to tell you.
I woke up crying.
I hate that this is true.
Some days the realization that you are gone tiptoes across my heart. I take a deep breath and I go on.
Other days I am completely shocked. The remembering pulls me out of wherever I am. I am sucker-punched. I cannot breathe.
For the first time, I am trying to let the tears really come. To feel the deep, wide, sharp pain.
Before your death I thought I understood grief. I did not. At all.
This morning, I suddenly found myself crying in the shower. The tears falling as the water rushed over my body. With the sobs I began to shake. My knees bent and I curled up into a ball. The water pounding my back.
It is the need to breathe that brings me back from the tears.
So I breathe.
But still, the missing. I did not know it would be like this. I did not know how it would be, but this, this is so much pain.
I want to talk to you. I want to hear your voice.
I want to touch you. Take your hand as we walk around your yard. Brush your hair. Read to you. Drink pink lemonade together. Laugh with you. Solve problems. Argue about anything. Kiss your forehead.
I want you to be there. And that is a part of me that is really really angry that you are not.
But mostly, I am just sad.
Today was our first day with sun in quite a while.
So I took Millie and went outside. We stood in the sun.
I did this because I knew if we talked on the phone later today. If we could. You would say, "I saw that you had sun today. Did you get outside?"
Yes. Grandma. I stood outside in the sun. Listened to the chickadees. Watched Millie chase squirrels. Looked for four leaf clover. Thought of you.
And even though when I wake up and realize that my dreams are true. That you are gone. That I can't call. That I can't visit. Even though I cry when I wake up. Please don't stop visiting me.
I see your face, with every line. I see your hair, white. I see you. My friend.
I hug you. And I feel you hug me.