Be It Ever So Humble

When I caught myself saying “when we get back home” and I wasn’t referring to my little house on my little street in my little town, but in fact, to a high rise hotel we had checked into just a mere 2 hours before, I got to wondering.  Had I made an insignificant slip or a more profound, Freudian faux pas?

Technically speaking, I have heard your house is your home.  If that is the case I have had the opportunity to call 28 dwellings such.  But looking back, some of those may not count because all I did was throw a few pair of jeans in the closet, occasionally slept there, and kept a handy supply of Frosted Flakes (true breakfast of champions) in the pantry – sans the milk which always seemed to have that distinctive curdled appearance and a potent aura about it.  Come to think of it, I also had my toothbrush.  I kind of have a thing about my teeth and must go through the whole brushing routine ritual so I can sleep at night and feel bright eyed and bushy tailed in the morning.

(I digress) For such an important device, the toothbrush doesn’t get much respect.  Consider the significance of your potential new love bunny finding a permanent place in your bathroom for their toothbrush.  It is an impressive sign of hygiene, yet may show up unexpectedly with little fanfare.  This would be considered a solemn, subtle, yet conscientious action on their part to drop in on your life, which should be taken seriously (although these folks very rarely bring their own toothpaste and will infringe upon yours).  Be forewarned: the first dialogue of where to squeeze will set the standard for many other life changing events and will test your relationship and put it on a path of no return.  Hold firm to what you preferences are.  Love sometimes makes you do funny things, but don’t back down if you are a bottom-up roller – it is a big deal, allowing squeezing in the middle may change your whole personality and you will live with resentment.  Sharing of some things is overrated; make him get his own toothpaste (and floss, while he is at it).

Besides having the comforting knowledge that my Sonic Care was safely stored in my suitcase, maybe I called the hotel home because it is what you say when you are away, the connection makes you feel less transient.  I love to go, but I like the warm feeling (sometimes defined as panic, when I fear I may not have turned off some electrical device) that overcomes me when I know I am finally heading back to my “homey home”, complete with all my tsotchkes, baking supplies, squooshy bed and beloved washer and dryer.  There is a reassuring feeling that comes to me when I see all my “stuff”.  I am happy and content amongst my dust bunnies and they are happy with me.  But as long as I am with my family (including the dogs, hamster and fish), I have decided, though, that we can be pretty much anywhere and, doo-dads or not, it would be home (well, except for some of those oh, so pleasant, camping experiences).

I found a quote (other people always know how to say it better than I can) that pretty well sums it all up…“Home is the one place in all this world where hearts are sure of each other.  It is the place of confidence.  It is the place where we tear off that mask of guarded and suspicious coldness which the world forces us to wear in self-defense, and where we pour out the unreserved communications of full and confiding hearts.  It is the spot where expressions of tenderness gush out without any sensation of awkwardness and without any dread of ridicule.” As long as this guy knows where to hang his toothbrush and squeezes from the bottom, I think we are on to something – there is no place like home.

Cynthia A. McClelland, curious observer of the obvious with interpretations of the oddities of daily life.  Mother, wife and lover of the furry, resides in the north Lake Tahoe area.

Cynthia A. McClelland © 2003-