The Banker's Niece

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Wednesday, 8 June 2011

Home is . . .

My writing teacher in her blog ( suggested writing on the theme of home without mentioning where one lives or any of the places in which one has lived. As ever, she stimulated a flurry of thoughts, the first of which - having had a migraine on Saturday – was:

v     Home is what I feel when the pain of a migraine is so bad that I let go.

I could add to that:

v     Home is what I feel at the end of a migraine when my life is clear of all irrelevancies and I understand again what is important.

Some other thoughts:

      Home is . . .
v     writing
v     walking in the countryside
v     getting into bed at the end of the day
v     being away from home and all responsibilities
v     an ecstatic puppy scrabbling all over me when all I want is the wine bottle and the fridge
v     the ‘Welcome to Devon’ sign on the motorway
v     waking to birdsong
v     listening to rain on the conservatory roof
v     watching the sun set behind the hill on a winter’s afternoon by the fire.

And the place where I’ve felt most at home, but is the furthest from my homeland:
v     Australia.

But of course, most importantly, and without wishing to be sentimental, home is:
v     anywhere, with Frog.*

* I asked Frog if he minded me putting this and he said, ‘Daft bat’. I think that’s an OK.

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