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Posts Tagged ‘hopes and dreams’

If we were having coffee, we would be indoors. It’s raining here in Seattle. It’s not cold, just wet. You would have to help yourself to a drink before settling in as I have a baby in my arms! I drove up here on Tuesday morning and was handed a baby as soon as I got in the door. The rest of the time has been filled with holding him, feeding him, and lots of burping! Mati is four weeks old. He’s quite alert for four weeks. I think I’m spoiling him. He’s been attached to me almost all day, every day. I got to be his first babysitter, too. His mommy and daddy had tickets to two soccer games this week so they got a couple of nights out and I got this precious little boy to myself.

This past week has been filled with shock and sadness in the world. Being here with this tiny, innocent little boy has helped me both empathize with that grief and sadness and also get through it without totally falling apart.

As Mati sleeps in my arms, I’m reminded of holding his daddy in my arms when he was this age. I’m reminded of how much simpler the world was; how much less hate, fear, and danger we faced. I am also filled with hope and dreams that Mati’s world will be a better place; that he won’t have to know the hate and intolerance; that he will be in less danger when he grows; that he will live in a world that embraces all mankind.

I’ll be driving home to Portland tomorrow. I’m already missing this little one and wondering when I’ll be back to see him. I’m lucky that he’s only a three hour drive away from me. Hopefully that will translate into frequent visits.

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 #WeekendCoffeeShare is a weekly blog linkup hosted by Diana at Part Time Monster Blog. Come join us!

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This morning, while reading through the blogs I check out every day, I came across this entry on Behind the White Coat,  a blog that has quickly become a favorite since I discovered it in March.  In this one, she writes about negative memories of home, or of one home she had.  It made me think about what makes a home.

I’ve lived in a lot of places.  Most of them have felt like home, some not so much.  Here’s sort of a summary of them.  At some point, I’ll write more about each one, I think.

1.  My childhood home remains a place of magic.  It’s where I played with my siblings, late into the summer nights.  It’s where my parents were young and I felt their sense of wanting a better future.  The place where that better future was still possible for them, and for us, their seven children.

2.  Then the move in 4th grade that took us to the home where I really grew up, perhaps more quickly than I should have in some ways.  It was the home where my brothers grew up and ran away from home then came back.  It was the home that although had held so much promise for a better future, we all ended up wanting to run away from there, even my parents.

3.  And we all did run away from it.  My brothers to their own lives with wives and kids.  Me off to college.  My sisters weren’t so lucky because their move was with my parents as they loaded up cars and trucks and headed for southern California.  That home quickly fell apart, my parents splitting up and everyone going in their own direction.

4.  The dorm where I spent four years was home.  Although there are some negative memories there, when I think of that dorm, Casa Zapata, it does feel like home with a family made of dorm mates, some of whom are still my friends, even now almost 40 years later.

5.  Let me backtrack to high school.  That was a home for me too…everything that involved school was home to me.  I not only felt at home in the physical school but I also felt a sense of family there.  I still am in touch with teachers from that school and it has been over 40 years since I graduated from there.  It was a place where I felt I had value.  A place where I belonged.

6.  Then I married and for the most part, the three “homes” we shared were home.  I looked up to my husband and cherished every word he said.  I did as I was told.  We were happy.  We thrived.  Our three children were born and they thrived.  Then BOOM!  It all changed when one person decided to move on.

7.  My kids, and wherever we were at together became my “home”.  It didn’t matter where we were, physically.  It just mattered that we were together.  And that’s still true.  We don’t have to be in any one physical home.  It can be a hotel room or a park or someone else’s home.  As long as we are all together, it’s home.

I guess home is really where the heart is, as cliché as that is.  Sometimes it’s a physical building; sometimes an entire neighborhood or city; or where you hang your hat; but most of the time, it’s where the heart is.

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