Tuesday, August 10, 2010

Going Home

Recently my husband and I made a pilgrimage north to our birthplace. I used to say, we went home, but with the passing of my parents in recent years, there really is not much there for me that feels homey. I enjoy visiting in-laws and cousins, but it's not home.
My mother was a wise woman. When we moved twelve hundred miles away to start our young married lives and took their only grandchild, Mom insisted they maintain a second residence on a sleepy clear water lake. Her philosophy was if they had toys, we would come home to play. And for over thirty years, we made the trek twice a year, winter and summer.
Two hard days driving, four kids in a van, we drove all night, taking turns sleeping, to visit with family and play at the lake. The cottage was a simple two bedroom box that smelled musty, but we reveled in our days spent there. Wet bathing suits and flies, or snow sledding and hot chocolate, it was a home away from home. Hospitality is what my parents spread on their gift of love. We went to be close to the familiar and bask in their love, but if it had not been so inviting and comfortable, we would not have gone near as frequently.
Now our chicks have flown the nest. What castles and candy can we offer to draw them home?

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