This fall I’ve been taking a writing class and I LOVE it. It’s kept me busy, but a good busy. With this class, my other writing commitments to My Forsyth Magazine and Chick Lit Plus blog along with taking care of my family, I’ve found it difficult to find the time to write all the blogs I want to for the Latchkey Mom! I want to keep posting things other than book reviews, so I thought it might be cool to share some of my class writing assignments. Some of the writing exercises are pretty interesting and I love the book we use for practice. I have flagged and highlighted the heck out of it. Most of the exercises are ten minute drills to get the brain working, and they’re supposed to be raw: just whatever comes to mind on a given topic – “Ten minutes, go.” I’ve been surprised how easy it comes, when I’m not over thinking it. I believe many of my practice writings will make excellent blog topics, so I’m going to cheat and periodically post some. This first one is about what home means to me. I hope you enjoy.
What is home for you?
People have said, “Home is what defines us.” If that’s the case, I think my definition is very long and complicated. In the literal sense, I think of home as where I live now – the four walls, which I decorated with love that encompasses the people who I love most in this world. Home should evoke a peace, exhale a breath. There should be familiar smells, laughter and lots of comfortable places to rest. It should be the place you run to when you’re happy and when you’re sad. You should miss it when you’re gone. For me, my home is all of this and more. It is a place where I can just be me.
Home also makes me think of where I was born – on Cape Cod. I haven’t lived there in more than 30 years and have very few ties left, but something pulls me back. I have a longing for those shores. When I cross the Bourne Bridge and ingest the salt air, a feeling rolls over me. It really is a physical reaction. I am home. I bring my kids and husband back as often as I can because I feel like I’m a different person when I’m there. Younger, reflective, slower, more hopeful. Living there was one of the happiest periods of my life. Crisp clean air, rough oceans, jetties, sand dunes, autumn leaves, salt box houses, quaint villages, lobsters, fried clams. I cry when I leave.
I have another home. Naples, Florida is where I spent most of my formative years. I have friends there, old friends, which are the best kind. It is the last place my original family was a family. Mom. Dad. Edmund. It makes me sad, honestly. It’s hard to go back, yet I do. I went to high school there, and some college. It’s where I learned to drive, play tennis, drink coffee. It is the place of many firsts: job, car, best friend, apartment, boyfriend, love, heartbreak. It is also a place of loss. My mother and father died and are buried there. It is the place where I lost my innocence. But my, it sure does showcase some beautiful sunsets.
What does home mean to you?