June 16, 2017 - Home, Sweet Home

The desire for home is deep-seated within each of us.  There’s not one of us who would say that he does not hold a special place in his heart for home, but there are many who do not have a “home” anymore.  Perhaps they never had it, or perhaps they have been away for so very long that they cannot remember it.  The desire is still there, though—the longing, the searching, the secret tears.  But for many, the satisfaction is always just out of reach.

Home, sweet home.

There’s nothing worse than sitting in your own home and feeling homesick.  This can happen if you have forgotten what “home” truly is.  While a home is the four walls around you, it is also much, much more.  Four walls can surround anything from a home, to a school, to a prison, etc.  No, home is not just four walls, although it does include them.

Home is a “feeling.”  Home is where you feel safe, where you feel comfortable, where you feel wanted.  Home is where you can set down the outer mask and be yourself and just breathe.  Home is flavored with your unique personality.  Home is where you don’t worry about judgment, and you don’t have to try to fit in.  It’s where you belong, where you can relax, where you can stop pretending for five minutes.  Home is where you keep your memories, where the past still lingers in corners and old chest drawers.  Most importantly, though, home is where you simply live—not survive, but live.

And yet so many people these days are bereft of home.  They wander around without an anchor, floating this way and that.  You can see it in their eyes.  Something is missing.  You can see it in their actions.  They are always searching for the next thing to do, the next place to go, the next item to buy because maybe, just maybe, they think they might find a moment’s comfort.  And perhaps they do—just a moment.  Then the eternal search begins again.  Watch them.  Watch their eyes.

But how is this possible?  How can so many people be without a home?  Oh, they might have wonderful houses or apartments to go to after work.  Perhaps they are large and lavishly furnished, or perhaps at the very least they are functional, but they are not “home.”  These houses and apartments are places where they sometimes sleep and sit if they have nothing else to do.  But they are not home.  At best, they are four walls that provide temporary privacy.

How did it happen?  Bit by bit, and yes, it was done purposely.  I could get into a million reasons why, one of which is that people without a firm foundation, without that solid anchor we call “home,” have nothing worth fighting for, worth living for, or worth preserving for the next generation.  As such, they’re easy to manipulate and don’t give much trouble when demands are made, no matter how outrageous, and of course, they’re great consumers.

And that’s all I’ll say about that.

Back to “home.”  You’ll recall the story of Hansel and Gretel?  They were led into the forest to die by their own father and mother (later versions say father and stepmother) who could not afford to care for them anymore.  But the children learned of the plan and Hansel left a trail of pebbles as they walked into the forest, which they then followed back home.  A second time they were led into the forest by their parents.  This time Hansel only had bread, so he left a trail of breadcrumbs, which were quickly eaten by birds.

Hansel and Gretel wandered in misery and hunger for a long time until they found a house made of delicious confections, which they began to eat.  It belonged to a witch who lured them inside with promises, imprisoned Hansel, and enslaved Gretel.  The witch’s goal was to eat them both, but they outsmarted her.  Gretel pushed her into the hot oven meant for the children, and they burned the witch.  Then they escaped with the witch’s jewels and went back home to learn their mother had died and their father had bitterly lamented the loss of his children.  They lived happily ever after with the witch’s wealth.

You know, at some point we all leave our parents’ home and strike out on our own.  It’s a natural and normal thing to do.  Most of us miss our homes dearly, and some of us then spend a good amount of time building our own version of home.  We do this for ourselves and our own children or children-to-be.  At least, that’s what people used to do.  Now it seems like many people find an apartment or house, but they do not build a home.  There’s a big difference.

And why is that?  Some may not have had a strong version of “home” with their parents.  Some may have been too busy with their electronics to look up and identify what home actually is in the first place.  Some may have been caught up in consumerism along with their parents.  There are many reasons why many people walk around today without a home, yet still they long for that feeling of home, just as everyone does.

Were you clever enough to leave a trail of pebbles so you could find your way back home?  If so, you’re among the lucky.  It means you didn’t burn all of your bridges.  It means you recognize the value of home—something which cannot be bought at any price.  It means you have come to a point in your life where you choose order over chaos.  Good for you.  Follow those pebbles home.  Now.

But what if all you had was breadcrumbs, like Hansel had the second time they went into the forest, and the birds have long since eaten them?  How will you get back home then?  You have no trail to follow, and if you keep going further into the woods, you will definitely find that house made of confection (if you haven’t already).  Do you think you’ll be lucky enough to shove the witch into the oven, or do you think that you might end up in the oven yourself?  I’ll give you a hint:  Most people end up in the oven.

No.  You’ve got to go back home, and if there’s no trail, then you’ve got to re-create home step by step.

First thing’s first:  STOP whatever you are doing.  Do not keep going into the darkness or you will surely find the witch.  Rest assured she knows you’re there and she’s waiting for you.  Don’t even give her half a chance to enslave you, because she’ll take it.  Stop where you are now, sit down, and breathe.  Don’t bother blaming anyone for your predicament, including yourself.  If this is where you are—without a home—this is where you are.  Deal with the here and now.

Next, understand what home is.  It is everything I said above and more:  safety, comfort, belonging, nonjudgment, relaxation, memories, etc.  But understand this:  You don’t just create it on a whim.  You build it, and building it takes work.  But what about the relaxation, you ask?  Yes, that comes after the work, which you must do daily.

Are you waking up in a place that is cluttered and dusty and dirty, with old laundry lying about and filthy dishes in the sink?  If so, you are waking up in a pad where you crashed the night before.  That might be okay temporarily for a college student, but it’s certainly not a home.  That’s not a place where precious memories are created and stored.  That’s not a place from which you draw strength.  That’s a place you want to get away from as soon as possible.

Do you want some pebbles to follow instead of some breadcrumbs?  Here are a few:

1.  Clean everything up.  Everything.  And keep it clean.  Every day, you must clean a little.  Every week, you must clean a lot.

2.  Throw out or give away anything you haven’t used in a year.  Get rid of the clutter in your surroundings, and you miraculously unclutter your mind in the process.

3.  Stock your clean cupboards and clean fridge with wholesome foods, and then cook them and eat them.  And share them.

4.  Fix and repair the small things that are broken, the squeaky door hinge, the hole in the curtain, the blown out lightbulb, etc.

5.  Get the laundry off the floor, wash it, dry it, and put it away.

6.  Get rid of the cobwebs.

7.  Turn off the TV, shut down the computer, and put your phone away every day for at least a couple of hours.

8.  Add beauty and ambience, small decorations and things that make you smile.  Secondhand items are perfectly fine and often desirable.

9.  Add romance.  Yes—romance.  Make things with your own hands, no matter how humble, and enhance your surroundings with what you have made yourself.

None of this has to cost very much money at all.  In fact, it often costs a lot more money to be a slob.  Takeout food and takeout coffee can add up fast.

“Home” doesn’t just occur by accident.  It’s not something you stumble on to incidentally.  It’s something you make and something you continually maintain.  Home means work.  That’s right.  Yes, there’s relaxation, too, but you have to earn that.  You don’t get it until you work for it.  Home means responsibility and daily chores.  It just does.  If you don’t do these things, you lose your “home.”

No one wants memories full of dirt, clutter, disarray, and confusion.  You can’t sustain yourself through life’s difficulties—the witch who wants to destroy you—on a head full of junk.  You can’t survive and thrive on laziness and petulant, entitled boredom.  Even if you have a ton of money and you can afford to pay for someone else to make your living quarters clean and respectable, the witch will get you in the end because you have a head full of money instead of a heart full of memories, and you’re still lost in the forest—even if your shoes are nice.

The only way to get those memories is to work for them, to strive for them, to make terrible mistakes sometimes and laugh at yourself and keep going.  The only way to build a home and make memories and have that feeling of belonging is to do it step by step.  You earn it, and when you earn it you know it’s yours and no one can take it away from you.

Then you will know “Home, Sweet Home” in your heart:  ‘Mid pleasures and palaces though we may roam, be it ever so humble, there's no place like home.  (John Howard Payne)

That’s what home is.  Then you have the right to say:  This is me.  This is mine.  This is my territory, no matter how humble.  I built this.  I made this.  I strived for this.  I worked so hard and I’m so proud of myself.  This is where I can be myself.  I earned this place.  I earned each one of these precious memories that make me smile so much.  This is where I create peace.  This is where I share beauty.  This is where I make order out of chaos.  This is where I stand.

June 9, 2017 - Forget-Me-Not!

The tiny forget-me-not with the brilliant yellow or white star at its center makes an appearance now for a few weeks in spring.  They are a precious few weeks that are gone in the blink of an eye, taking the forget-me-nots with them as if they were never there at all.  Then you become so busy with the summer work that you all but forget about them.  Almost.

The tiny forget-me-not, Myosotis arvensis.

Yet every spring in the most unlikely places, you will find the forget-me-not.  She never takes center stage anywhere but instead prefers a small hidden spot on the sidelines or far in the back of the garden.  You could almost miss her if you weren’t paying attention, but there she is, waving on the breeze in the background, saying, “Don’t forget about me!”

The other plants ignore her, but she doesn’t care because she isn’t growing for the other plants.  She’s growing for you.  She moves from spot to spot as the years pass by, rarely ever blooming in the same place again because she doesn’t want you to grow accustomed to her place and then forget about her.  “Do you remember how much we loved each other?” she asks.  And you smile because you do remember.  You remember the little stars.

She doesn’t have the regal stateliness of the rose.  She hasn’t the height of the iris or the brilliant splash of the tulip.  She doesn’t have the crazy abandonment of the daisy or the breathtaking beauty of the rhododendron.  She is small and tiny and powder-blue, and she looks almost as though she might float away on the slightest breeze, like so many dandelion wishes.

Vergissmeinnicht.

Then she fades, and one day you go out to the garden and she’s gone.  Again.  No one asks you anymore if you remember the secret you carry in your heart.  Now the summer work comes on in earnest, and you work and toil from sunup to sundown.  The days are hot and the nights are humid and you are tired of the pace.  Harvest season hasn’t even arrived yet, but you find yourself longing for the deep slumber of winter.

You could stay there forever, you think, in the cold and snow.  Almost.  Until she reminds you again, brilliant and blue and laughing on the wind.

June 3, 2017 - The Schedule

Everything is happening exactly on schedule, exactly as planned.  A happy walk through the woods shows me that things are just as they should be.  I knew these lady slippers would be appearing soon because they were on the schedule, and sure enough, here they are.  They were once an abundant flower but are now becoming rare.  In some states, it is even illegal to pick them.  I’m glad they’re still on the schedule.

The elusive lady slippers.

And the greenery!  Yes, that is right on schedule, too.  For so very long everything was frozen and the world was locked in rock-hard ice and covered with a deep layer of snow.  Of course, that was on the schedule, so it had to happen, but then the schedule changed as it always does.  Now it’s on to greenery and flowers and insects.  Yes, many insects.  The black flies always manage to find their way into a large chunk of the spring schedule.  Persistent little fellows.

The spring runoff from all the rain and melting snow was abundantly on the schedule this year and provided an ideal breeding ground for the Maine state bird, also known as the mosquito.  Ahhh, I couldn’t resist saying that!  But it’s true.  The swampy areas are just as they should be this time of year, and we are not disappointed by what they bring us—irritated, perhaps, but not disappointed.

The animals are right on schedule too, and everything is going off like clockwork (which, of course, it is clockwork).  There are babies everywhere I look.  Eggshells litter the forest floor, tossed out of the nest by ever-clean mama who cares for her new little birds.  The fawns are being born now, and I saw a family of five deer in a thicket.  They were afraid of me, and when I told them not to worry, they ran away.

I saw a tiny baby squirrel fall out of a very high branch in a tree.  Miraculously, he was okay, just a little startled and confused.  Within 15 seconds his mother came bounding down the tree, scooped him up, and carried him back up to their little home.  She probably didn’t have to spank him because he'd already gotten his punishment for not listening about being careful on the branch.  I think I heard her say, “Now do you see what I’m saying to you, young man??”  He squeaked weakly back at her.  Squirrels squeak a lot.

All of the mothers are busy being good mothers, and they’re doing everything right on schedule, as they always do.  They have a lot of work to do, so much work!  They keep their nests clean and tidy so that the babies stay healthy.  They forage for a lot of food, and they know which kind of food to bring if a baby isn’t feeling well.  They chop the food up finely for the little ones and teach them how to eat.  They teach them how to walk and play and jump and run.  They teach them how to find their own food and build their own nests so that they will be good parents too, when the schedule calls for it.

They never complain about the work—ever.  They never shirk their duties.  They never “blow off” their responsibilities.  They never ignore their babies.  They never protest.  They never become angry, unless you are foolish enough to play too far out on a branch and you fall flat on your behind.  But even then it doesn’t last long, and you certainly deserve a sore bottom in that case.  They are ever vigilant and always careful.  They make mistakes, of course, but they fix them right away.  And they are always on guard.

Until very recently, all humans were like this, too.  Many still are, of course, but a great many more seem to have forgotten.  Somehow they lost the schedule, and then they forgot all about it.  Or it could be that some became petulant with the schedule and decided that they would no longer follow it.  They don’t know that the schedule rolls on ever forward and whether they like it or not, whether they acknowledge it or not, they will reap what they sow.  That is the wonderful thing about the schedule.  Unless, of course, you sow nothing.

There are a great many people walking around today sowing nothing.  They are not learning and growing.  They are not preparing for the future.  They are not tending to and teaching their young.  They live in squalor and chaos.  They have chosen to forsake the very thing that guarantees them comfort, joy, and a life lived in peace and love.  What an odd bunch of forest creatures has man become.

But the schedule still rolls on, keeping time to the exact second.  We cannot see its inner mechanisms and we cannot know exactly which day a certain thing will occur, but we can feel it.  We can know it in our bones.  We can do what we are supposed to do because that will bring the abundance of the schedule.  We can do the busy work, the tedious work, the thankless work, the boring work.  We can do all of this because it is on the schedule, and whether we like it or not, it is important to do it.  In fact, it is perilous not to do it.

Put your house in order.  Remove all clutter and garbage.  Clean all floors and surfaces.  Wash all laundry.  Have a place for everything and everything in its place—everything.  Let your kitchens and bathrooms gleam brightly from your hard work so that you and your family may stay clean and healthy and productive.  Do not complain.  Do not shirk your duties.  Do no task with resentment, but instead realize the necessity for every task, no matter how menial.

We must do these things.  We are on a schedule, and if we do not keep the schedule and do not sow when we are supposed to sow (which we cannot do if everything is in chaos), then we will not reap what could and should be ours.  We must embrace the schedule and teach it to our children.  Over and over, we must give them the rhythm of life so that the schedule grows into their bones again, as it used to do for all humans.  Everything happens in its season, and the schedule waits for no one.