Memories of home.
Thinking a lot about home of late and what that means. Living a nomadic life has allowed me to adapt to finding and feeling at “home” wherever I am. The new world order shakes that way of life to the core.
Our “home” as a disinfected safe haven from pandemic or isolated quarantine from those we love and respectful distance for fellow beings.
Missing home.
Missing dad and the home he made for his family of 6 children. Partially in progress and unfinished, it was home. It would always feel safe. And familiar. And comfortable. Despite whatever else was going on.
Missing mom and her quiet way of making everything right with our world.
Missing simpler times maybe.
Times, no doubt, were not so simple for my parents and I’m certain that there were challenges for them. But as young children, those concerns rarely found our shoulders.
