Photographers, artists, poets: show us HOME.
Seeing the first chain of the Jura Mountains
in our back yard is probably the symbol of being home again.
When I was younger, I would go away now and again, mostly holidays. We then lived in the town with the children, and the wide open spaces called us to see something completely different. It might be the Swiss mountains, perhaps a city visit somewhere in Europe, or a summer holiday by the sea in another country. We were not a travelling family, travels can be expensive, but within out limits we had fun and enjoyed doing and seeing something completely different.
Now approaching the twilight of our years, travel does not draw us away from home so much. Our children do their own thing, quite rightly, and we now like to take it easy. The views from our porch and home compensate fully for anything I might find in another place.
There is another aspect of home. Home is where you live, where you do what you want to do and the composition of your day means no stress.
What do I miss the most when away? I am sure my routine, although I can hear some saying routine is boring, no action, and the same old thing all the time. I do not care; I have now grown to appreciate the repetition of life. One of my pet hates going out for the day is that I cannot relax when I need relaxation. I might enjoy having lunch in a restaurant, but in which restaurant can you take five after eating. Where is there a place to relax? I cannot lay on the floor, or assemble two chairs and go into the horizontal position of bliss.
I have become very comfortable in my ways since no longer working. The best part of the day is the part where I can relax after lunch. Where I can retire to a comfortable place, perhaps a sofa, or even my bed, close my eyes and escape for an hour or so. The place where I can recharge my batteries and forget all that is around me.
There might be a disturbing influence of a feline that decides to join me in my midday sojourn, but as my felines seem to be in a permanent state of “take it easy” and “where shall we sleep now”, they seem to understand my need for relaxation and join me, especially Tabby. Now and again she earns a tummy tickle or under the chin tickle, but she leaves me to my thing.
This is where we arrive at the next part of home: a lady with her felines and they do not belong to me, I belong to them and so does their home. They always come home eventually, whether drawn away by the smell of a mouse, or an interesting event in a field, they know where home is.
Once a year I leave home to visit my father in London. I leave Mr. Swiss, three felines and my house and my now adopted country. Of course I miss my father, love to see him again and am very well looked after when in London. I stay at my friend’s house, school friend that I have known so many years: almost a second home, but not quite. When I board the plane to return to Switzerland, arrive in Zürich and take the train for Solothurn, I am approaching home. People in the train speak a language I have now adopted as my own home language, I see scenes floating past the train windows that are my places, I recognise every little village, small town and each one of the 4-5 stops the train makes on the way. I am approaching home and meeting my favourite chauffeur at the station completes my picture.
I suppose I have become a sentimental old lady, comfortable in my ways.
If I were in a country where home no longer exists, home being a road or a path to travel until finding security again, then this blog would be a joke. A news report comes to my mind that I saw on the TV yesterday evening. It showed a Syrian family that at last could escape from their war-torn country and were now in Switzerland living with their relations that had settled here many years ago. They told of their problems in Syria and the wife of the family said it was the first time for a long while that when they awoke in the morning they felt safe and knew they would not have to be worried about surviving the day with the children. We have an easy choice in deciding where Home Sweet Home is in comparison with others.
When I was younger, I would go away now and again, mostly holidays. We then lived in the town with the children, and the wide open spaces called us to see something completely different. It might be the Swiss mountains, perhaps a city visit somewhere in Europe, or a summer holiday by the sea in another country. We were not a travelling family, travels can be expensive, but within out limits we had fun and enjoyed doing and seeing something completely different.
Now approaching the twilight of our years, travel does not draw us away from home so much. Our children do their own thing, quite rightly, and we now like to take it easy. The views from our porch and home compensate fully for anything I might find in another place.
There is another aspect of home. Home is where you live, where you do what you want to do and the composition of your day means no stress.
What do I miss the most when away? I am sure my routine, although I can hear some saying routine is boring, no action, and the same old thing all the time. I do not care; I have now grown to appreciate the repetition of life. One of my pet hates going out for the day is that I cannot relax when I need relaxation. I might enjoy having lunch in a restaurant, but in which restaurant can you take five after eating. Where is there a place to relax? I cannot lay on the floor, or assemble two chairs and go into the horizontal position of bliss.
I have become very comfortable in my ways since no longer working. The best part of the day is the part where I can relax after lunch. Where I can retire to a comfortable place, perhaps a sofa, or even my bed, close my eyes and escape for an hour or so. The place where I can recharge my batteries and forget all that is around me.
There might be a disturbing influence of a feline that decides to join me in my midday sojourn, but as my felines seem to be in a permanent state of “take it easy” and “where shall we sleep now”, they seem to understand my need for relaxation and join me, especially Tabby. Now and again she earns a tummy tickle or under the chin tickle, but she leaves me to my thing.
This is where we arrive at the next part of home: a lady with her felines and they do not belong to me, I belong to them and so does their home. They always come home eventually, whether drawn away by the smell of a mouse, or an interesting event in a field, they know where home is.
Once a year I leave home to visit my father in London. I leave Mr. Swiss, three felines and my house and my now adopted country. Of course I miss my father, love to see him again and am very well looked after when in London. I stay at my friend’s house, school friend that I have known so many years: almost a second home, but not quite. When I board the plane to return to Switzerland, arrive in Zürich and take the train for Solothurn, I am approaching home. People in the train speak a language I have now adopted as my own home language, I see scenes floating past the train windows that are my places, I recognise every little village, small town and each one of the 4-5 stops the train makes on the way. I am approaching home and meeting my favourite chauffeur at the station completes my picture.
I suppose I have become a sentimental old lady, comfortable in my ways.
If I were in a country where home no longer exists, home being a road or a path to travel until finding security again, then this blog would be a joke. A news report comes to my mind that I saw on the TV yesterday evening. It showed a Syrian family that at last could escape from their war-torn country and were now in Switzerland living with their relations that had settled here many years ago. They told of their problems in Syria and the wife of the family said it was the first time for a long while that when they awoke in the morning they felt safe and knew they would not have to be worried about surviving the day with the children. We have an easy choice in deciding where Home Sweet Home is in comparison with others.
I live in rented accommodation, and have done for quite a few years now. I look on it as 'the place where I live' rather than 'home'. There is a difference between those two, something that is felt rather than known. That said, however much i like to travel (and that's a lot!!), there are things I can do here than can't be done when travelling. Watching a movie with the volume way up, walking around sans clothes if I want, eating whatever I want at whatever time I want. Those are all things that can't really be done while travelling.
ReplyDeleteI definately agree with the sentiment of your final paragraph. Compared to those who are going through such daily anguish and fear, I have nothing to complain about.