I think I’ve discovered something about myself. It doesn’t matter how small or how poor it is, home is home.
I just returned from visiting a relative, and they live in a very spacious 3 bedroom house and I greatly enjoy their company. Still…despite my complaints about lack of space, I am happy to return home. I think that would be the case if I lived in a tar paper shanty too…home…is just plain HOME!
It isn’t the location, it isn’t the company…it is just the familiarity of it being home, the routine, the tasks to be accomplished, the sense of permanence even if it’s a portable home. It is our home, no matter what. It’s where we work and live, it’s where we sleep, it’s where we have our possessions, it’s where we come to rest and relax too. It’s just plain home.
I can gripe about home, I can whine about lack of space, I can curse cabin fever, but guess what?
It is still HOME!
It’s where the cats are. Its where everything we have is. It’s our home. Now, we have storm season approaching, we’re wanting to find another location to put it, we never can forget its a portable transient sort of home, but it is still our home.
There’s something special about that, even when we’re cursing poor design and crappy components, it’s that special place.