I went Home Home last week. I could tell you about the one hundred and twenty-four trips up and down the stairs I happily and efficiently made to find, unpack, relocate, fluff and assemble my mother's Christmas accouterments. But I won't. Just know that my mom will be the first to "light 'er up" on Black Friday! I didn't actually arrange any of her decorations beyond the tree because based on my mom's laugh-til-you-pee-your-pants reaction to my only attempt, it seemed healthier (and drier) to leave that task to the professional (aka: Mom).
At one point in my life going Home Home was my touchstone. Home Home is who I was and who I wanted to be. It is my hopes and dreams and struggles and successes. My childhood. My earliest perceptions. I am fortunate to be able to return to that place. Clarity of Time and Space is a gift. Going back to where you were helps you figure out where you are going.
I don't have the same profound sense of "finding myself" when I visit anymore. Maybe it's because I'm older. Maybe it's because my dad isn't there anymore. Maybe I'm just less imaginative. Who knows?
I will tell you though, it's a whole bunch of fun to go Home Home! First of all, the plane ride demographics are almost always 95% men and 5% women. 80% of those men are in camouflage. One time it was literally my three year old daughter, me and a bunch of guys in camo.
Second, Home Home is where the the Historians live. Historians are friends who know you from grade school or junior high. They were part of all the stupid, silly, excellent times of your youth. Historians know, remember, hold dear and still see the 18 year old in your 50 year old self. Historians must be maintained - they know too much!
Lastly, Home Home is where you revert back to your childhood roles. It is so great to throw out a one liner then have your brothers laugh with complete understanding. It is sweet to reminisce and reconnect with cousins and aunts. It is astounding to watch my spritely mother climb in and out of the attic. Then kinda funny to hear her complain about her aches and pains from doing too much.
It's good to go Home Home.
At one point in my life going Home Home was my touchstone. Home Home is who I was and who I wanted to be. It is my hopes and dreams and struggles and successes. My childhood. My earliest perceptions. I am fortunate to be able to return to that place. Clarity of Time and Space is a gift. Going back to where you were helps you figure out where you are going.
I don't have the same profound sense of "finding myself" when I visit anymore. Maybe it's because I'm older. Maybe it's because my dad isn't there anymore. Maybe I'm just less imaginative. Who knows?
I will tell you though, it's a whole bunch of fun to go Home Home! First of all, the plane ride demographics are almost always 95% men and 5% women. 80% of those men are in camouflage. One time it was literally my three year old daughter, me and a bunch of guys in camo.
Second, Home Home is where the the Historians live. Historians are friends who know you from grade school or junior high. They were part of all the stupid, silly, excellent times of your youth. Historians know, remember, hold dear and still see the 18 year old in your 50 year old self. Historians must be maintained - they know too much!
Lastly, Home Home is where you revert back to your childhood roles. It is so great to throw out a one liner then have your brothers laugh with complete understanding. It is sweet to reminisce and reconnect with cousins and aunts. It is astounding to watch my spritely mother climb in and out of the attic. Then kinda funny to hear her complain about her aches and pains from doing too much.
It's good to go Home Home.
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