How do you define “Home”?
That has always been an odd question for me.
Most people consider the place they grew up in to be their home.
Other consider the house they live in to be “home”. And, while my house is my home there is a place that always fulfilled that requirement before we bought this place.
You see, growing up my mother was always so strange and weird and just plain nasty that none of the places we lived ever seemed welcoming or permanent in any way.
Our residence – yes.
Our “Home” – no.
But there was one place that became fixed in my mind even though I actually only lived there for a little less than a year right after college.
I knew that when things went wrong, I could always go there and somehow the world would keep turning.
That is why the Zillow add hit me so hard:
“Great home in need of updating! The bones are here, all it needs is a buyers TLC! Hardwood floors, 4 bedrooms, 2.5 baths with screen porch!”
Seems pretty normal, right?
But, you see, that house in the suburbs in Columbus, Ohio, was always a pillar of normal when things went wrong.
My stepmother, Rosemary bought it with her first husband in 1965 and she had lived there ever since.
So imagine you came from a house where nothing was ever right and you suddenly got plopped onto an island of calm.
Chaos breaks and quiet ensues.
It was just amazing. I loved spending weekends there after my Dad and Rosemary got married.
BUT, that island of calm continued through the years and decades.
My heart got broke? I showed up and was reminded of what love really was.
A friend died? I stopped in and got the hug that reminded me of what life really means.
Need reminded that life goes on? Stop in and get greeted with a smile that fills your soul.
I am gonna miss that house.
Copyright 2021 M.J. Hobbs
Tales From An Old Ford 