Another day at work, tending to the tasks that needed to be done. Answering emails, processing paperwork, entering data while listening to the Meldau-Metheny CD. Two of my co-workers leaving on trips. One, to Oregon for her mother’s retirement celebration. Another leaves on Sunday for Spain, where her parents were born, to visit relatives and the "old country".
Makes me think about our attachment to land, to particular places. Where we feel at home. And not. Where is the "old country"? Are you living there? Or is it a place you visit every so often? Where is home?
Sometimes I feel on the edges of several places at once, not really belonging solely to any of them, yet somehow connected—even with those I’d rather not be.
I see in the news that a 95-year-old Kansas woman will graduate from college next month. She will graduate in the same class as her 21-year-old granddaughter. It seems as if she’s found a sense of home through learning. Maybe a same sense of home can be found through relationships, through community, through creating art. Maybe to live is finding that larger sense of home we all seek.
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Art is the only way to run away without leaving home.
To fill the hour, that is happiness; to fill the hour, and leave no crevice for a repentance or an approval.
--Ralph Waldo Emerson
Home is a place you grow up wanting to leave, and grow old wanting to get back to.
--John Ed Pearce