Home – NaBloPoMo Day 6

Pretty sure that in most prairie homes there is someone’s gran’s needlework that says “home is where the heart is”. We never had that on the wall at our house because my grandmother was a nurse and she used to say things like “the thoracic cavity is where the heart is”, and also she hated needlework. Of course, now that I’ve just mentioned this I’ve decided I need to do a needlepoint of a drippy heart with “the thoracic cavity is where the heart is” and hang it on the wall.

“Home” is an interesting concept. Is it a house? A physical place? Is it a state of being? I used to walk out along the dam at the farm and sit on the big lichen-covered boulders under the scraggly trees among the long, whispering grasses and feel like I was home. Unequivocally home. Or watching waves crash on a rocky, unforgiving shoreline. That was home too.

Picked up a traveller on the highway yesterday and he’d just sold his house. Called himself “homeless”, but talked about the place he’s living and the people he cares for and who care for him and I wondered if he were actually homeless or if he was just houseless.

On Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs (a theory which is over 70 years old, so I’m sure it’s been updated, changed, tweaked, and possibly dismissed; I’m not up on current psychological/behavioural research), physiological security is the base of the pyramid. But is that “home”, or is that “shelter”? Is there a difference?

What is “home” for you? How does “home is where…” end for you?

cenobyte
cenobyte is a writer, editor, blogger, and super genius from Saskatchewan, Canada.

6 Comments

  1. We tore apart our home of 37 years in New Jersey, sold it and the cars, and moved to California, and I’m wondering why my heart is so hard that I don’t miss that home too much. Am I suppressing it?

    I have been chronically ill since 1989 with ME/CFS, and it colors everything. If I had been well, there would have been so many things I would have done in NJ, and with the kids. Instead, in many ways, I barely existed, and their father took them on a bunch of things and I did others, but it was nothing like I would have done if well. I did homeschool them, so spent a lot of quality time with them, but the hiking, the camping trips, the museums, and many of the vacations just didn’t happen.

    What does home mean when it’s also a prison?

  2. After leaving the farm, I’ve walked away from many places of short and long-term stay and never looked back on any of them. But I gave my honey a card that said “You open your arms and I am home.” Because home is where the heart is, and different people can have that particular heart in different places.

i make squee noises when you tell me stuff.

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