Karla’s Korner: There’s No Place Like Home
There’s No Place Like Home….
In 2010 Miranda Lambert released “The House that Built Me” a song about wanting to go back to a childhood home wishing one last visit to re-live or share the stories and memories that were created in that old house. The singer shares memories of where her dog was buried, the little room she did her homework in and much more. The idea of going home, to remember or possibly re-live some of those memories, a walk down memory lane if you will, seemed appealing as if going back made life better.
Recently I made a trip back home to a quiet Mayberry-esque place where as my Pap used to say, “They roll the streets up at 5:00”. I stopped in the middle of Main Street looking one way and then the other realizing that not much has changed in this sleepy little town. Stopping in at the local “chicken joint” for lunch I was transported back to when I was seven, maybe eight sitting on pea green counter stools resting my menu on the yellow Formica counter top; they are still there. Taking a detour we stopped briefly to snap a picture of my grandparent’s old house. With the yard needing mowing, the shrubs needing a trim and toys strewn across the front porch a sob stuck in my throat and tears filled my eyes. Passing by the kitchen window I remembered seeing my grandmother’s sweet face peering out over the kitchen sink. It’s been sixteen years since I was inside that tiny little house on the back street of that tiny little town and yet my heart still aches for it to be theirs, to be the place where homemade rock candy, lemon crackers and sweet tea filled the kitchen table. A place where Pap’s shop smelled of pipe tobacco, and brown beans cooking in a kettle on the wood stove, a place where homemade ice cream flowed like lava from a volcano on July 4th as we watched fireworks light the night sky from the driveway and Pap hollering “Hot Damn that was a good one!” over and over. But that place no longer exists because they are gone. It’s not part of home anymore; or is it?
Can you really go home again? Can you return and really be home, in that place where familiar faces and things remain unchanged? If you could click your heels like Dorothy and go home would it be the same as you remembered? What is home? Where is home? Webster defines home as “the place where one lives permanently. But what happens when all of that changes? We all grow up, leave and create a place for ourselves. What happens to the place we called home as children? Is there really such a thing as a permanent place? My family and I have moved six times in the past twenty-six years and yet I am home; or am I? So many questions and I wonder if there are any correct answers. Turning to the husband sitting across the dinner table I began to shoot these questions at him hoping he might have the right one. Without hesitation he answers “Home is mobile, it’s where you are not where you’ve been; you carry home with you wherever you go”. So as I ponder and wonder if the answer really is that simple; home is where your heart is or is home your heart. The answer is yes.
As parents we fill our houses with the things we believe are necessary to raise our family. With rooms full of toys, books, gadgets and pantries filled with food they love thinking that those things are required to make home a home are we forgetting what really matters? Are we neglecting the very core of the home; our hearts, making memories, taking photos, sharing stories, laughing until our sides hurt and as someone one said until the tears run down our legs? It’s those things that cannot be bought that make home. One of my most favorite places is one that I’ve only visited twice and yet my heart tells that it’s home. It’s a place where those who live there open their hearts to everyone, include them with hospitality, love and laughter. That place, those people rests in my heart which ultimately is home to me and while my physical self isn’t there often it’s the love and communication shared with those who live there that make it home; having hearts that are connected create a safe, secure place to rest our souls and truly be at home.
Is there a special place where you can be completely open, honest and vulnerable? Everyone needs a place to be, a place to feel secure, warm, comfortable and cared for. However, we must be reminded that a house is not where home is; home rests in our heart. Take time this week to share your home, your heart with those you love and those who need to be loved. Home is where the heart is; open it up and live there and if someone asks you where you’re from you’ll have the answer.
I think we all need a touch point a place we can go to be inspired. Karla is my children’s teacher, a good friend, and a person with a heart of gold. I hope that her words will inspire you to do more. We are only as good as the people we surround ourselves with. It is important to listen with your heart and proceed with your eyes open. Enjoy!
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