Member-only story
For nearly all of My Life Home has been not so much a place but a feeling.
When I was in charge of a full-fledged Family-At-Home — the Humans I lived with always made Home — Home. It didn’t matter where we were, as long as we were together, it was Home.
After the kids grew up and the divorce happened — I had to learn to maneuver in a Life which was completely foreign to me. I was adrift. The usual compass which had always pointed me to Home had been broken.
It’s been nearly nine years now since those days. And this weekend I was completely overcome by a sense of finally — at long last — being Home. In a place. My Space.
My Current Nest contains all the good memories I brought with me from my marriage — and to be sure there were plenty of them. You don’t stay married for over 32 years without a lot of good stuff in the mix.
My Nest is also about Who I Have Grown into in the last nine years on my own.
Small things — such as the colors of the decor and the many, many plants to the fact that the only TV is rarely turned on.
Larger things — like the very prominent alter and photos of my loved ones on nearly every wall. The furniture could come straight out of Ye Olde English Pub.
