Yearnings For Home

Last week gave me the joy of clear focus time with family and friends. Out-of-state travel. The wedding of the baby sitter, helped me raise our children. Zureckstreifend our son safely in plebe summer in the United States Naval Academy. Reunification with Nick, was removed in Summer School. Visiting old friends from Kentucky, moved to have Nashville, and the connection almost two decades worth of memories with up-to-date goings in our separate lives.

I now could write a book about the Academy of induction day alone. The last hug with our son as a civilian. The formal swearing-in ceremony. Twelve hundred freshly shaved heads donned in sailor caps invisible sit in the lawn chairs in the expanse of lawn in front of the huge building where important people spoke. The last half hour. Watching him get in line with its train. And then the final eye permanently imprinted in my brain of twelve hundred men and women marching through the vault. In the what may well be the most grueling six weeks of their lives. The pain of separation. The Verdrossenheit on our mood that night. The lump in the neck and then flop in stomach.

And to DC, where we witness yet another 4th July ceremony in the Mall Sitting on blankets under the stars and the rain. With durchnate easily soaked bodies and spirits. Trying to Energize us with less of a child in tow. And enjoy the fireworks without confessing, according to how much we missed our saen Ben.

My man drove the two remaining children in our brood back home, while Nick Head south again to College for a new round of the Summer School And I headed west to visit two friends cherished in Nashville. Gnedig housing both me and give me the big tour a city in which I do not know their hospitality has something to me, which I very much needed at this moment. Still suffering from severe pain, homesick for my son, the plebe, I needed at this moment-but not consciously detect even recognize it to the time the warm cocoon of home. Friends and trusted confidant shared past. From deep-seated memories. Laughter. Recognized southern accent (something I have not heard much in these last five years in Connecticut). From hanging in jammies during the breakfast. The watching video of the wedding of her son, a wedding I regret that he missed, and together cry about his tenderness. And enjoy their promise for a bright future for two grand newlyweds. From the performance of their new grandchildren. And catching up with their now grown daughter and her new husband.

And to the wedding of our dear Hannah. Now twentysomething and movie-star gorgeous. Thin as a noodle and search more than smashing in her white dress equipped, veiled head and pull-up hair with a perfect make-up, from which none of the t-shirted and blue-jeaned past, if my children while they I mean, husband. Eating burritos wedding celebration-a favorite Hannah with their older siblings brought a lock of memories, as we noshed on chips and sipped wine while catching up with all important details of our lives.

This the weekend reinforced the notion of home for me. It helped me realize more than ever that the transfer between the family ties and deep friendships-do no coincidence. Or, legal transfer of title. Transfer of warmth and love through generations, through the simple but thoughtful acts in the daily rhythms of life, through years of repetition, hard work and discipline, grow into something powerful.

Not all families survive the persistence of our children. The in-laws sometimes hate the robbers. The mother-in-laws sometimes buck heads with the daughters or sons. Not all friendships survive hundreds of kilometres of geographical separation. Dinner dates are few and far between. Celebrations of life important events are sometimes missed. Catch-up calls are delayed. Birthdays are forgotten.

But is this thing we call at home this is the most important of all. Not the physical home to secure. Houses and apartments. Polster faded and the China breaks. But the substance at home remains embedded in our veins in a way that can not be easily forgotten or ignored. It is the smell. The visuals. The colors. The accents.

The hugs. The time spent. The victims on personal matters. Meals get shared and exchanged photos. Lives up to on.

It is that sustains us. This allows us to find and follow the joy.

I 'm always ready, another trip this weekend. This time see my old mother. And meet with my brother and my sister and their children. To clean the family home, where we all grew up to turn it into smaller and quieter district. A wheelchair access and disabled characters in their own little spot on the parking lot. The circle of life goes on. Intergenerational transmission of love. From CARE. The yet another way to define home.

As you travel this summer to visit family and friends, I hope that you fulfil your desires at home. In what way do you define it.

Godspeed.

 

An author and artist--and financial advisor by day--Carolina Fernandez brings her creativity and design insights, along with experiences garnered through eight renovations, to her second book Country French Kitchens (Gibbs Smith, March 2008). Her writing has appeared in over one hundred published articles and stories, including her first book ROCKET MOM! Her weekly newsletter spins to readers across the globe. She has been quoted in dozens of magazines, columns, blogs and articles, and has appeared in radio and television programs across the country, including the FOX News program "Your World with Neil Cavuto." She lives in Connecticut with her husband and their four children. Please visit: http://www.countryfrenchkitchens.com - where you can get kitchen and design news as well as sign up for "gleaux," her free ezine. Learn how to incorporate the warmth, beauty, comfort, charm, and joie de vivre--the art of living--so many of us desire into our kitchens, our homes...and our lives!

Article Source: http://EzineArticles.com/?expert=Carolina_Fernandez