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Re: Home sweet Home
You'll be alright in Nunavut, there's always a couple of polar bears willing to sit down to lunch with you.
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Build your own cremated remains rocket, just like Hunter S. Thompson | Digital Dying |
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Oh and I thought you lived in a state of confusion :p
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I am always ready to go away at the drop of a hat - would never come back if it were up to me.
Have just returned from 10 days in the UK -arrived in the monsoon and had quite a few days that were grey and it doesn't bother me or get me down. Then, when the sun shines, it's the most beautiful place -love the green and the gardens full of flowers. Have come back to 31°C and the relentless sun of Italy. The Brits coming off the plane with me in Milan were delighted -it's great when you're on your hols and have nothing to do but hard to live with every day. (Moan,moan!) Like Barrie said -my heart lifts a little every time I return to the UK and I am a little sadder every time I leave. Although I've been here 25 years - still don't think of it as home -just somewhere i live. |
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Home Thoughts, from Abroad, by Robert Browning Or this even: The Old Vicarage, Grantchester, by Rupert Brooke Me ... I'm Canadian. I've been back a few times. But, I'm happy when I see that big maple leaf on the plane that's going to take me back home to the Great White North:alright: |
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Then there's Shakespeare...
This royal throne of kings, this sceptred isle, This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars, This other Eden, demi-paradise, This fortress built by Nature for herself Against infection and the hand of war, This happy breed of men, this little world, This precious stone set in the silver sea, Which serves it in the office of a wall Or as a moat defensive to a house, Against the envy of less happier lands,-- This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England. |
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Of Rupert Brooke I only knew "He is Gone" part of the 1914 sonnets which a friend sent me - it is beautiful, as was he. (The poet and the friend!):):hothothot |
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I stopped living full-time in this area when I was eighteen.
However I always came back every month or so, and this was always coming 'home'. No matter where I was happily living at the time. I'd get giddy when pulling into Wigan, because we were then in the north, proper. Once I could see the dark, damp, rolling hills and moors that surround Hyndburn, I knew I was really home. I didn't like coming home from holidays as a child. Most years we went to Sandbanks in Dorset three times a year. I'd tearfully say goodbye to everything in my head. Until I'd see them all again. Goodbye sea, beach, ferry, Davis's boatyard, Brownsea Island, the white art deco house, the licorice allsorts house, John Lennon's Aunt Mimi's house, the pine tree stuck on the little hill. Sad, strange, child. Now it doesn't bother me at all. Love being away. Love being home. Though I do still always say goodbye to the sea wherever I am. Knowing my Dad's ashes are being washed around by it. :) |
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I also love being nice and quiet in my own routine at home-yet am ready to leave at the drop of a hat. I love being by water - not for the same reason as you - nice to think your Dad's present every time you encounter the sea though. I love being by water as it reaches out and calms my soul. As to your being a sad, strange child -not at all, I can remember the smallest strangest details of family holidays when I was little - they are the things that make up the "glue" that binds us together over the years. Recently have begun to understand the selective nature of memory though... |
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