Lucy versus The Squirrels
June 30th, 2003 byI wrote this a whislt ago. I left it alone, for reasons mine. I edited it a little more and here it comes:
Mr Jones and I took Lucy out for a walk a little before dinner the other night. Lucy is a great dog, beautiful, golden, quiet and obedient. She belongs to Jon, their son. Lucy is more cautious around me, then I am around her.
It was the first time I had ever taken a dog out for a walk. As a matter of fact, this was the longest time I had spent with a dog. Fortunately for me, it went rather well. It could have easily gone the other way, had Lucy decided to further investigate the strange rituals of The Squirrels That Live In Trees. The 20ft leash is godsent.
Before the walk, I told dad that we didn’t really have dogs back home. He simply chuckled and patiently listened to me. Looking back at that conversation now, I wonder what back home means anymore. I don’t live there anymore, I don’t ever remembering even living there, I just sort of stayed there whilst I was in highschool, until school ran out, summer bleached in golden and hot, drying out spring till autumn cooled it off, for the next school year to start.
Back Home. I need to update that definition. It can definitely no longer refer to where I grew up, for I grew up on highways and good conversations with friends. I grew up under starry nights as I lay in bed, staring out my window and pondering lazily. I grew up infront of computer screens bright and keyboards pale yellow. I grew up under rainy skies and sun blasted days.
Countries don’t matter, cities barely mentioned. So then what?
I wish I knew. I honestly wish I did.
I read once that a traveller carries his home with him, a turtle shell of sorts, a long brown walking stick with a patched up bundle at the end. That a traveller carries his home in his mind, regardless of where he goes or who he meets. That way, he’s always home. That way, he’s never alone.
I’ve been doing that for years now. Just like you.
June 30th, 2003 at 11:46 pm
I’ve only recently begun to realize that “home” is a mindset of sorts, an intangible, untouchable quality more than a concrete construct. I moved away from my childhood home when I was little, spent years dreaming about it, and finally returned only a few years ago. Suddenly, I found it wasn’t really home anymore. Not because it had changed, but because I myself had, and so I had to redefine my definition of “home.” Lately, to my surprise, it’s been feeling like home again, but in a different way, and for a much different reason. I guess “home” is just something we have to constantly redefine, throughout our lives.
I loved the last paragraph of your post. That was soo beautifully put.