Thursday, December 3, 2009

on coming home

What makes it home? Is it the coats hanging in the closet or the cat dishes waiting to be filled? Is it the way the sofa smells like leather and your husband's shampoo or the pile of your daughter's toys sitting in the living room?

What makes a home, a home? Is it the tears you've poured into the pillows or the drips of apple pie on the oven floor? Is it the echo of laughter from the last time you tried to sing Happy Birthday a couple of octaves too high or the sunlight falling through the window at 4 o'clock?

What makes home so very homey? Is it lamplight and firelight and candlelight all at once? Is it the leaves collecting against the backyard fence? Is it maple syrup and waffles and that horrible chili that your husband insisted on making two weeks ago? Is it an overstuffed refrigerator or an empty recycling bin? Is it the grocery list hanging from the doorknob so you won't forget it (even though you will, you always do)?

Home. What is it? Is it a building? A feeling? A collection of memories?

Is home a place? An ideal? A myth?

Being home. I know it, when I'm there. It's you. It's me. It's us inside these walls that we've made our own.


Spadoman said...

I immediately thought of this 1980's Talking Heads song when I started reading this post:

Home is where I want to be
Pick me up and turn me round
I feel numb - born with a weak heart
I guess I must be having fun
The less we say about it the better
Make it up as we go along
Feet on the ground
Head in the sky
It's ok I know nothing's wrong . . nothing

Hi yo I got plenty of time
Hi yo you got light in your eyes
And you're standing here beside me
I love the passing of time
Never for money
Always for love
Cover up and say goodnight . . . say goodnight

Home - is where I want to be
But I guess I'm already there
I come home - she lifted up her wings
Guess that this must be the place
I can't tell one from another
Did I find you, or you find me?
There was a time Before we were born
If someone asks, this is where I'll be . . . where I'll be

Hi yo We drift in and out
Hi yo sing into my mouth
Out of all those kinds of people
You got a face with a view
I'm just an animal looking for a home
Share the same space for a minute or two
And you love me till my heart stops
Love me till I'm dead
Eyes that light up, eyes look through you
Cover up the blank spots
Hit me on the head Ah ooh

This is home, not a place, but who I'm with.

Chip said...

@ Spadoman: At first I thought you were going to quote "Burning Down the House" I like your song choice.

Personally I quote "Time" by Pink Floyd:
Home again.
I like to be here when I can
When I come home
cold and tired
Its good to warm my bones beside the fire."
I love you babe ,and I love our little famiy. ~I would add that part to the song if it wasn't copywrited already.

Alicia @ bethsix said...

Beautiful. And Chip's comment is just adorable.

Erin P said...

That was beautiful, I really enjoyed it. I have an interesting feeling about home, because my husband and I still have both of our houses...and even though we've been married a year, I still feel more like home is my house, not his. I wish we had the four walls we built together. You're lucky.

Spadoman said...

I just can't let this one go. Here is another song that we sing to each other, (my spousal unit and myself). Home is wherever we are together.

Lyrics by Gus Kahn and music by Harry M. Woods written in 1927.

Side By Side

Oh, we ain't got a barrel of money,
Maybe we're ragged and funny;
But we'll travel along, singin' a song,
Side by side.

Don't know what's comin' tomorrow,
Maybe it's trouble and sorrow;
But we'll travel the road, sharin' our load,
Side by Side.

Through all kinds of weather,
What if the sky should fall;
Just as long as we're together,
It doesn't matter,
Doesn't matter at all.

When they've all had their quarrels and parted,
We'll be the same as we started;
Just travelin' along, singin' a song,
Side by Side.