Bright lights, big city.
Neither is my cup of tea. I prefer big sky and starlight, wide open spaces and room to breathe. Don’t get me wrong … a shopping trip to the big city is fun every once in awhile. Take today … the girls and I picked up my mom and headed for some retail therapy. My girls were attracted to colorful scarves and beaded purses. My mom selected half-priced greenery and tree trimmings for next Christmas. I headed to the housewares and home goods sections.
For about two hours. After four stores and a tasty but overpriced midday meal, my mom uttered the words I’d been dying to hear: “I can’t take another minute in this town. Get us out of here!”
I don’t need pop culture and latest fashions. I need home.
I need my cluttered kingdom and sink full of dirty dishes. I need the heart of my home where people gather and laughter is heard every waking hour of the day. I need area rugs with chewed off corners from naughty puppies who think they run the place. I need half-empty flour bins and farm fresh eggs so tasty they put grocery store offerings to shame.
I need soft lights and cozy rooms. I need woodstoves and crackling flames. I need fuzzy, woolen socks on rustic wood floors in a late-1800s farmhouse. I want flea-market finds mixed with jars full of lucky stones collected by kids on camping trips. I want pheasant feathers in a vase and sheet music scattered on the piano my grandmother and great aunts learned to play.
Most of all, though, I want to laugh out loud. (lol)
I want my daughter to struggle with a potholder and ask for help. I want to hear my youngest say increduously, “Daddy! What are you doing?” And I want to see the shock on his face as he blurts out, “Apparently arts and crafts!”
Home is the therapy I need.
Home is where stories begin.
Home is the place you fill with the people you love, the friends you have made, and the items that share your journey with those around you. Home is the place my children will return to after they’ve explored the world.
I was an adventurer, too. May still be, who can say? But it’s nice to be at an age where I’m content to simply be. Aside from a few camping trips each year and a couple of cross-country driving adventures along the scenic route, I don’t need to go much farther than my own fence line. I have people to love, and people who love me. That’s all that matters. I don’t need to seek anything elsewhere.
I can eat, pray and love right here, right now.
For that I am so very thankful.
And on a less emotional and more practical front, it’s cheaper and less invasive to be happy where you are. My hermit-like tendencies will be a life-saver when gas reaches $5 a gallon this spring. And because I currently have no desire to hop on a plane, I won’t be needing a pat down or a full-body scanner. It’s all madness, I say!
If you’ve made it here, to this point, bless you. I’ve said a lot, though perhaps it’s all much ado about nothing. (Except for impending gas prices and TSA nonsense … that’s SOMETHING, all right.)
I guess I simply wanted to say …
God bless you in the new year.
I pray you are content with your surroundings, ever mindful of your blessings, and enveloped in
love and laughter and life worth living …
mindful of disappointments and burdens, but relinquishing heartache to simple joys and tender moments. It’s up to you to have a happy new year … start by offering a genuine smile to the person next to you.
I promise you can’t smile at someone without gaining a little shred of happiness for yourself.