Home is where….

reddirtlattes/ October 20, 2018/ Gulf Islands, Canada, kenya/ 6 comments


We’ve always traveled with all of our things. Our home shut up in boxes, shipped across oceans, unloaded and unpacked, bringing our memories and comforts with us. This is the first time we have traveled empty handed, leaving our home intact upon our island. 

It’s an interesting feeling to try and settle somewhere while leaving your home in full bloom seas away. 

In this new age of minimalism, of having less, maybe we need the little we hold onto even more? I have certainly shed with each incarnation, boxes falling by the wayside, things stolen, discarded, and I fully embraced Marie Condo’s wisdom of keeping only that which sparks joy. 

But it’s so much more than joy. It’s our life, tied up, sewn into, bound in our things. 

Some mornings on the island I would wake up before my very early rising children and sit as light sprinkled the dawn and I would be so moved by the beauty all around me. What we, what I had created. Little things, like the plants I nurtured and loved that grew alongside of me. Plants that are still there, being tended to by a friend. Plants I could not let go of.

The rugs I bought while living on the Upper West Side of Manhattan as a young actress, so free and so wild, softening the floors beneath my feet.

The yarn painting hanging above our bed that I got at a Huichol Indian retreat on new years eve 1999, when everyone worried the world would end and I danced in the dawn.

The small metal sculptures of a man and woman I got in Santa Fe with a friend that sit upon our bookshelf. The same friend who would take me to Belize where I would meet a boy who would become the man that became my husband. 

Our things are our memories. 

It’s why I keep this blog, to remember. 

Now I sit in Kenya without my memories next to me, connecting me, threading me to my past. 

I am happy they are still on that mountaintop, waiting for me, for us. 

But my feet feel lonely. The walls feel bare. The bookcase sits empty.


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  1. So many things that have passed through our hands are associated with memories of time and place. Songs also. Some are humbling, some wonderfully encouraging. Thanks for helping me to remember that sentimentality is so much more than a silly emotion, but a sense of how all of life keeps speaking to us.

  2. I recently spent some time away from home for work, staying in hotels. I didn’t like not having my things around me, the rooms were bare. At times I wanted to reach out for something or read the a book but I had to wait until I went home. I like home.

  3. Memory is who we are. The present has yet to be played out. The future is not now, it is not when……. It is not………yet. To deny memory, to forget the past minimizes who and what we are. We are the some total of what we have been waiting for new memories to be experienced in the present and the future.

    In a high school graduating class blog, people of my age, write so often of how they try to throw out much of their past as their lives are winding down, to make it easier on their children when they sort through our belongings. It is so hard to do.

    Every so often, I go through my stuff saved for so long, and throw out a little bit. It is also a trip down memory lane, something at my age, we do so often. To remember, to validate, to make the statement “Here I Am”, “Here I Have Been”. Take me or leave me. I am the collective of my entire basement full of junk, sports trophies, my homework in school including that showing my learning addition, subtraction, etc. When I look at my parent’s stuff left behind when they were kids, I understand them better when I try to put myself in their place in time. The turn of the 20th century, WWI, WWII, The Great Depression, These all shaped who they were. It is written in my identity. When my stuff is sorted through by my children and grandchildren I hope they will understand me better and identify a part of themselves as who they are at the present.

    We connect to our families by what we leave behind as well as who we have been. It tells the universe that this is what I was, this was part of my journey that I bring with me. Mot importantly, this reminds us of who and what I have been, and partially what I am now, take me or leave me. This is so important when you get into the seventh decade of life and you wonder who you have been in life? Was it worth it? Will my sum collective of who I have been guide my successors?

    Down to the basics. Memory shapes who we have been, who we are now, and what we will be like in the future, in this world and in all others in our journey through the universe. Never, ever, forget lest we become directionless forever. Life can be so meaningful. Being meaningful is our memories. Here I am, here I was, here is who I will be. It is ever changing. Remember me. I am just a mere dot in the history of time. Meaningful or not!

  4. Similar to Jase, I’ve been working away from home the last two years, working a contract for four days a week then driving home to Atlanta, to my friends and my stuff. I ‘m a packrat, there are several things I collect; but my coworkers are amazed to hear the inventory at my apartment, a knife, a fork, a spoon, a cup, a bowl. An air mattress is perfectly for sleeping, a microwave that doubles as a kettle for my tea and a wi-fi connection for my laptop. And of course books, because where ever I go, there will always be books.

  5. We’ve just moved into November 20th here in the Eastern time zone. Happy Birthday to you Sabrina, 40 never looked so good ☺

  6. I hope you write again soon. I feel better about life when I read your perspective.

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