"Home is Where the Heart Is”. If that’s true, I have multiple places to call Home, where I have strewn pieces of my heart. Home is a place you look forward to getting back to when you are away. Your pulse quickens when you fly over, or round a corner in the neighborhood. Thoughts linger there, replaying vivid memories.
Yes, Prescott is home now. Our house and our belongings are there. Our friends and community are there. But my heart still sings when I arrive in Chicago. I have history there, as does my father’s family. It’s where Ron and I started our retirement. I can walk through the neighborhood, past the block where my grandfather’s furrier store used to be. When I go to Wrigley Field, I think about Dad attending games there as a kid. I became an adult while attending Northwestern University in adjacent Evanston. I “get” Chicago, and I will always love it in a visceral way.
Mom’s home in Manchester, New Hampshire is also my home. The knotty pine paneling, the jays cawing in the trees, and the tiny, homey kitchen – all Home. Mom’s grandfather, parents, and brother built the house with love, and it oozes from every seam. I’m always happy there.
Ron’s family recently sold the farm and home place in Melvin, Illinois. We haven’t been back since. It felt like Home and an emotional touchstone for years. There are generations of history there, and so many memories of family gatherings. It was hard to let go. The feeling of home-ness in Melvin will fade over time, because we don’t belong there any longer.
Everyone should have at least one place to call Home. If you have more, you are blessed.