Image by the justified sinner via Flickr
When I was a child, home meant Mom and Dad and my brother and sisters. It was where we ate supper together after a day at school. It was a comfortable place where we were loved and cared for. Later, it was where family came together for holiday dinners and Christmas time to open presents together. As an adult, my home has become my sanctuary. It is the place I can go to escape from the stress of the day. It is where I am safe from the outside world. I can do what I want, when I want. It is where I go to spend time with my husband of 41 years. It is where things are comfortable and close at hand. I know where everything is and there are no surprises. It is where I can watch tv, or read, or blog. I am surrounded by my belongings and it represents my security blanket. It is where I belong. It is my place. It is my home.
Estherlou's Blog 
I’ve been gone for a while but have been going down my list trying to touch base with everyone. To try and do it through emails has been daunting. Over a 1000. Yikes! It seems easier just to pop by those I know and say hello. I’m glad I did. What a wonderful post that was. It reminded me of holidays at home surrounded by family. ((sigh)) Sadly now both of my parents are gone, and it seems us kids just don’t get together anymore the way we should. But oh the memories….
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I love this post. It is everything you want home to be. 🙂
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sounds like everything i’d say…right down to 41 years of marriage… 🙂
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