Summer ~ the season everyone waits for, makes plans for, takes vacations, attends June weddings, and celebrates the red, white and blue, is here. But I've never really liked summer. It ranks #4 on my seasonal scale of 1-4. It is noisy, too bright, too busy, no cute jackets, no awesome boots ~ I much prefer Fall, when the quiet sets in, the earth begins to rest, and it's okay to go slow, to read a good book, bake an apple pie, indulge in Dungeness Crab and sourdough bread.
November is now my new favorite month. In the past, October held that title, but with the weather changing and getting warmer (last October we had days that reached 90 degrees in this little seaside town) I have had a change of heart. I am now cozying up to November since that seems to be the month when the cooling truly begins.
I also favor November because it is the time of year that brings the excitement of the holiday season and with it comes renewed faith and dreams of a blessed future. Hope shines as bright as the white little twinkle lights and the storefront decorations that pop up on a daily basis. There is soup on the stove, cookies in the oven and a cup of hot chocolate with whipped cream waiting. Life feels like you fell into a Norman Rockwell painting, momentarily, even if you've never experienced it, you can imagine yourself right there at the dinner table, with the entire family, all smiles and saying grace.
I've been homesick. For a place to call my own. Not just a house, but a place, a connection, that when I get there, I know I am exactly where I am meant to be. We need this place to rejuvenate, to gain strength. And if we go without it for too long, we lose our bearings, our equilibrium is off. Looking at all of my possessions piled on top of one another in a storage unit, crammed together, begging for breathing room, these boxes have become a mystery. They have been packed away for over two years now, and I'm sure that just like a good friend, they can be gone a long time but once you see each other again it's like you never left.
But sometimes the feeling of "home" gets attached to a certain house, a certain place outside of ourselves, certain people. What happens when the house, the place, the people, for whatever reason, are no longer there? Is our "home" then completely obliterated?
We have to store all of these things in our hearts and in our heads, and sometimes that's a lot to carry around with us. Sometimes we just need to unpack. To put it all back where it belongs. The smell, the feel, the sound, the heart. The heart of who we are, what we value, what we represent. But until then ~
The feeling of home should always be stored and protected in the heart ~ where like a safe deposit box, we keep these treasured things under lock and key. It is where our true home lives. Like James Taylor sang "Home, build it behind your eyes, carry it in your heart, safe among your own."