The Soapbox Papers

The Soapbox Papers is my two-cents worth.

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Location: Beloit, Wisconsin, United States

I am a cross between Tinkerbell and Calamity Jane.

Monday, August 15, 2005

Going Home

It happens to all vacations -- they end. Today I will pick up my friend at the airport and give him back his keys -- my house sitting will be over. I have enjoyed myself, completed two projects for him and gotten a third - the gardening - off to a great start. I have managed to keep two cats - his and mine - from maiming one another. I have rested, watched chick flicks on the cable channels he gets that I don't , rested, played in the yard, gone to a Browns game that was rained out, and rested. But it is time to go home.

I did enjoy myself -- but truth be told, I will be pleased to be home again. I always feel 'at home' at Doug's -- but it's not the same as being home. To look up at the walls and see MY art, to look at the shelves and see pictures of MY family, to sleep in my own bed (which I love) and use MY computer (which is better, faster, and has MY files on it -- as well as the ability to upload photos from my camera) will be nice. To be available for phone calls from friends and family on MY phone, to lose MY keys, and know what my cat is up to (sort of) will be nice.

I am thinking about what makes a place home. I think the answer to that is the person(s) who live there. There are traces of that throughout the place that one does not leave around when one visits even a good friend. Taran is finding that out while he deals with his late father's home and his papers and his towel. A person's home is where that person can be totally his/herself.

I have been known to look about my home and wonder what one who came after I left the planet would think of it -- and me -- because our homes speak loudly about us. (See Housekeeping for more on that!) I know one isn't supposed to care about that -- and some intentionally don't care - but it matters to me that I leave things -- well, kind of orderly, kind of tidy, sort of the way I want others to think I live my life. But those who know me - who, in the event of my departure, would be the ones sorting out my home - know better. They know I am a woman of good intentions and a good heart -- but a few bad habits. I don't always make my bed. I don't always wash dishes after each meal. I could dust more often and clean the windows more often and probably change the litter box more often. I could sort my mail and throw stuff out once in a while. I could empty the trash more often, even when it doesn't smell.


But that's what home is. A place where one can exercise his/her own bad habits. If one cannot do that, one is not truly at home. And so I leave my friend's house as neat and tidy as I found it.

And go home.

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