Saturday, April 9, 2011

H is for Home

Home. What a fantastic place it is. And despite my physical depiction, home is not simply a structure. That would be a house.

Home is everything that it represents. The people inside. The location it sits. The reason you live where you live. And the place you return to when you feeling a longing or need.

The need to remember good times. Or bad ones. A place where memories shape us and mold us; give us hope. I had a wonderful home growing up.  It was beautiful and sunny, as was the state we lived in. :)  It was also noisy, busy, and always full of people.  Perfect. Except when it wasn't.

At times like those I would often retreat to my room and don my headphones, blocking out the other activities and entering my own little world.  That world often included reading, and then eventually writing.  I found comfort and security in my wonderful home, but also escape when I needed through reading and writing.

I wrote my first book in the summer before 8th grade after taking a typing class the previous year.  I learned on a manual typewriter, where any mistake you made was permanent and I scrounged for any kind of paper to type on as I created my world. And the discovery of white out to correct my mistakes. One thing was for certain though.  Writing changed me.  I was a sleuth, brave and true, epitomizing a true heroine at the time by the name of Trixie Belden.  What a fantastic series that was and what a wonderful role model her character was to young girls everywhere. Teaching us how to solve mysteries and fight the good fight, along with her two brothers and multiple friends.

Strangely it reminded me of my own life, but where my one true hero was none other than my mother. My mom was this huge ray of sunshine that never dimmed. Even at night.  She'd often sit by my bedside and we'd stay late up talking. We'd talk about school, boys, and all of my fears. And hers.  She was always gentle but honest with me, helping me to discover myself (in a house full of boys). Home was wonderful that way. Where I could receive love and gentle encouragement, securing its place in my life as the source of all wisdom.

Before she died my mom told me I was a gifted writer.  And that I never gave up. And both things combined would one day get me published.

I can't wait to prove her right.

What does home mean to you? Do you have fond memories of it?  Any heroes or heroines that have inspired your life?


  1. Simply beautiful. What a lovely post!

  2. My mom never really saw the gifts her children had. She was too busy surviving. I'd like to think if the situation was different for her she would had that ability too. Don't know. How lovely that your mother encouraged you.

  3. I love my home, especially because I have a new sofa arriving today :D RuthieTootieWishes A NEW FOLLOWER. I love your blog !


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