Home

I was walking my dog the other night, like I do every night. It was so freezing cold every step on the ground gave a loud creak. The snow we got two nights before, had frosen into this moonlit glittering duvet which seemed to have tucked in the entire world.
This very late, most windows had that warm glow they get, when it's cold outside and so very comfortably warm inside. Others had turned lights down, but I could see the blue flikkering lights from a TV. Some were asleep.
Like the eyes are the windows to one's soul, the windows are the spy holes into a home.
A home is so private. What we call home is where we feel we belong.

Looking at them, as I walked by, bringing a broken silence to the night, I found myself in soaring thoughts about how, in all of these houses and apartments, people have decided to live and nest. They have surrounded themselves with colours and things they love. Valuables, memorabilias, sensible and smart tools, device and equipment, rubbish and just... stuff.
They have all chosen their style and standard, or lack of thereof. Every home is where somebody returns to after going away. That is where they belong and create their life.

Like thoughts often do, they wandered. They wandered to my parents, who no longer can live in their own home. And I thought about how we all refuse to let them mourne their home.
We ignore the sadness, and keep telling them that where they are now is just brilliant, so easy to clean, so perfectly downsized, so bright and modern... It's all very convenient and efficient, but it's not home.

Some of their things they found space for, most are left behind, in a home they probably never get to visit again. They are sad that where they fought and made up, brought up their children and grandchildren, worked hard and played hard is now abandoned. Not counting much to anybody, except in the stories we tell. It has become a treasured memory.
And we forget how important we find our own home, how worthy of huge expences when we find it's time to reorganize and redecorate.

I know people who on regular basis throw all their accessories and ornaments out, and replace it with current modern style.
I know people who cherish everything they have brought into their house, and refuse to change anything, except for adding another piece of toiletpaperroll art, carefully created by a familymember at kindergarden or school.
I know people who keep their home a showroom, and I know people who live and let live in their home.

I thought about how I left my own home, as I rushed out the door to let the pacing dog do his thing: Starwars lego was carefully lined up at the coffee table, unfolded socks piled up at the dining table,,, I do hope they are all pairs this time, the cushions in the sofa scattered about and notebooks, belonging to subjects like science, French, English, maths, religion... carelessly left on where ever was a free spot at the time homework was done. I thought about my dreams of how I would furnish my house, and how it turned out. It doesn't refect my taste, but it does reflect my heritage and where we come from.

My home is lived in, I wish it was more of a showroom, but I have this solid belief there is a difference in untidyness: the kind we create by doing stuff, and the kind created because we don't care.
I care... I just don't have the capacity to nag all the time.
Instead I am going to appreciate more I have a home, and am allowed to live there.