Where the HEART is
HOME. I’ve been mulling over the whole notion of HOME as I watch my friends return to the rehabilitated homes.
We have lived longer in this apartment than we lived in the Peacock House. This is the place we’ve called “home” for nearly 10 months. This is where we took refuge after Harvey, worked tirelessly on insurance claims and applications for FEMA assistance, sobbed in each other’s arms, laughed til we almost peed our pants, hung our child’s artwork, listened to him read his first book to us, kept “pet” insects, built forts out of boxes, enjoyed the meal train dinners or Trader Joe’s newest microwaveable meal, drank copious amounts of boxed wine, celebrated holidays, watched the snow fall, snuggled while watching countless movies, and so much more.
Home has been a split-level house, built by my grandfather, on Magnetic Street. Home has been a string of dorm rooms and tiny apartments (9, to be exact). Home has been 2 trendy flats in Amsterdam, a company-provided villa in Doha, and a rental house overlooking the Cook Inlet in Anchorage. Home has been 4 different places over 2.5 years in Houston. Home is -and always will be -Bonnie’s Birdhouse on Mehl Lake.
Given our wanderlust, we will likely call many other places “home” in the years to come. So, this apartment is just as much our home as any another place we’ve lived. We’ve done so much living and loving here, which means we’ve really never left our “home.”
(Artistic credit to my sweet boy who covered our walls with his drawings and paintings over the school year.)