Nouns and Verbs is our weekly challenge where we write about what specific words mean to us. Join in the fun via the comment section, telling us how or why these ordinary nouns and verbs are meaningful to you. This week we’re thinking about HOME.
Home is a feeling, not a dwelling. WHERE we live isn't nearly as important as HOW we live. To find true happiness our lives must become filled with peace. We must start by loving the home that is within us. If we can feel love and affection, peace and security no matter where we are, then we are already home.
2 comments:
HOME X 3
Back in the mid-1980s I had the chance to go to Germany to visit my friends, Doug and Annie Wall. It was the perfect opportunity to travel and get to see old pals.
My friendship with Doug and his siblings, Alan, Mike and Lisa, was born on our little dead end street by the railroad tracks. On the other side of an old, barbed wire fence there were acres of woods, complete with a creek. It was little kid heaven.
My sister and I were at the Wall’s house so frequently that their family photos often feature six children instead of four. I even recall some of their furnishings, like their table top, bar-be-cue grill designed like a little pig. When it was time to put the burgers on, smoke rolled out of his nose. My other favorite was a real heirloom. Their granddaddy made big, gourd guitars that you could really play. He decorated them with colorful paper circles and then lacquered the entire instrument; it was something special that I’ve never seen before or since.
While at school in Knoxville, Doug and I shared an apartment in the Fort Sanders area. By then Doug had a nice Martin guitar, but Pa Wall’s gourd guitar was nearby, hanging on the wall. The little pig was there, too, out on the fire escape. Doug played a lot, as did our other roommate, so there was music, lots of music. By this time he had fallen in love with Annie, and her bright and smiling face became part of our home scene, too.
Fast forward a few years. By the time I reached Germany, I had been away from home for three weeks and was reaching out for Doug and Annie. When they opened the door, there, 5,000 miles from my home were those smiling faces and their familiar laughter. The gourd guitar was there, too. Doug and I sang a little bluegrass (an odd but comfortable sensation so far from Tennessee) and then went out on the patio to grill some burgers. Who was there but the little table top, pig, just waiting to snort a little smoke my way.
Home…it’s wherever and with whomever you feel happy, comfortable and safe. I never knew that home could be an apartment in Germany, but for a few weeks in the summer of 1986, it was.
Submitted by Susan Jones
HOME, AH, HOME...A very special place!
As a kid, growing up in this one horse town, I could not wait to graduate and move to the city. Any city, anywhere was bound to be better than Paris, Tennessee. Consequently, I wasn't as close to my parents, my grandparents, my aunts and uncles, and my church family as I should have been.
Now, in 2009, I find I cannot make a living in Paris, but my home is here, my wife is here, my good friends are here and I would not have it any other way! Give me that "one" horse any day. Paris is home, Paris is where I want to be!
Post a Comment