A Home Is A Home For Me

A house is not a home until there are eggs bubbling in vinegar on the windowsill, baby shrimp growing by the furnace, tiny plants piercing through bean seeds, and bugs in your freezer. A house is not a home until the walls are filled with paintings, paper-mache statues, maps, and timelines. You can not consider it a home until sewing and knitting projects sit on a chair, books are strewn across the rug, and carved soap is in the sink. Home is where sports equipment fills the yard, tree branch forts adorn the porch, and deer hides dry in the afternoon sun. A house is for people, and a home is for chicks and ducklings, baby goats, turtles, gerbils, cats, and dogs. A home is filled with music: piano, guitar, singing voices, and the radio. A home allows questions about religions, explores cuisine of other cultures, and guides its members through life. A home does not mind candle wax on the floor, colored potions on the counter, or collections in the dryer. A home celebrates achievements and commiserates with failures. A home prepares its members to leave and anticipates their return. Life begins and ends at Home. My Sweet Home.