Home means so much to so many people. I don't have a home to go to. That is, since both my parents have passed, there is no longer a family home to go to. I miss that. We have a home that I love and truly enjoy being here. It is the home that my I, my beloved and my children retreat to when life gets tough, or when life is so good. There really is no place like home.
Home for me is also in another country. I was born in Ireland. My daughter was there recently and went to the church I attended, the schools I attended, and was even in the house beside the one where I was born. I am so jealous of her. Not in a bad way, but in that "I wish I was with her when she experienced that place" way. I know I have posted about "home" before, but the longing is getting stronger.
I think part of this longing is due to my choice of reading material these days. I am just at the part of the story where Frodo is leaving home, possibly never to return. He is 50 as he leaves and I am close to that age. I am not interested in some lengthy, death defying adventure, but I do want to go home. It's not the adventure and the possibility of new experiences that I want, I am looking for familiarity (whether or not it breeds contempt) and I want to see the beauty of that land again with eyes wide open.
I'll be spending some time working on this one, particularly if this trip is with my beloved. It may be part of a bigger trip that may involve the Netherlands (her ancestry). It just might be me alone just one last visit, one last walk along the Liffey, one last walk in Glasnevin, one last visit to #5 and one last visit to that terrible beauty.
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