Home

Before moving to Pembroke a year ago, the south shore was just a cluster of nondescript towns standing in the way between me and my vacation on Cape Cod.   Now its home.

 

That got me to thinking.  What MAKES a home?  A family?

 

I’ve never been one to limit my definition of “home” to a 3-bedroom Colonial with a station wagon in the driveway and a white picket fence.

 

I feel more at home here in my Pembroke apartment than any other place I’ve lived. 

 

I’m surrounded by the things I love.  Humorous things — like comic book-style prints on the wall, and kitchen stools with a knife, fork and spoon for a backrest. 

 

There’s a stack of books in every room. And a writer’s corner tucked in between two big windows.  I sit there, looking out the window like an Italian grandma, and watch everyone’s comings and goings as I write about life here on the south shore.

 

I live by myself, but I’m never for want of family. My mom and dad live north of Boston.  My sister and her family are just a phone call or email away in Raleigh, North Carolina. Sunday nights are reserved for book-group-discussions-by-phone with my 9 year old niece.

 

I never spend a holiday solo.  And there are special friends around the country who are  my “first call” when there’s good – or bad news — to share.  This is my family.  A family of my choosing.  One I cobbled together.  There’s no husband.  No son or daughter. But my home is never lacking love – or laughter — and my heart is always full.

 

Cliché as it may be, I guess what they say IS true:  Home is where the heart is.

 

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One response to “Home

  1. Very nicely put. Couldn’t agree with you more. But where is the sarcasm?

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