A house is not a 'home'

I came back from Baltimore (awash with the girls and Kathy and Josh) and got home at 6 pm or so.

I made sure our cat was still alive and ate dinner--salad and mussels--and put new food out for Lukie and am getting ready to take a shower.

I'm in the house that is my 'home', but I'm not home.

I've lived here since 1989--that's 26, going on 27 years--but being here tonight with a dying cat that I love to death (but he hasn't died yet) and a parakeet named Maggie, who sings and sings, but it's not home.

Bern and Bela are missing.

Bern will be home on the Excella from Baltimore at 1:30 or so tomorrow. And I'll go get Bela from this great kennel in Wallingford at 4.

Then it will be home, this house I've lived in for over a quarter of a century.

"Home" is where those you love and share the house with are.

Tonight I am homeless--though I am warm and safe and nestled in a lovely 1850 house.

This time tomorrow--with Bern and Bela back--I'll be home.

What makes 'home' for you?

Ponder what 'home' is for a while.

It has something to do with who and what is in the house. Of that I'm convinced.