Who, What, Where is Home...?

I have always been both fascinated and perplexed by the concept of "home" and its meaning. I myself have struggled to develop my own definition of home. Certainly not for lack of having a solid place to call home. My father built the house I grew up in and called home for 20 amazing years. Perhaps it is because of this that I grew up with such an immense appreciation for the stable walls that I-- maybe too often-- used as a canvas. Crayola would have been proud! Time and time again my mother would invent some crafty concoction to remove my "art" from our walls. This was of course before the time of Magic Erasers. In my inevitably self absorbed 5 year old mind though, watching my mother scrub crayon off our walls was to me her way of allowing me to start fresh, to provide me with a clean, blank canvas with which I could create, learn, and grow.

On May 10th, after 25 incredible years, my dad will be moving out of our family home and the house will then belong to a new family. My only hope is that they use the house as my family once did-- as a blank canvas to create countless memories, make mistakes, and grow beyond unimaginable belief.

Perhaps my progressive definition of home is partially due to the fact that I grew up enveloped by a constant and stable idea of such that I am now able to open my mind to its larger concept. Despite my incredible childhood home base I've never considered home to be one distinct place. Home was and is the few and far between places where I could and can sit comfortably in stillness and be vulnerably creative. Home is where ever the people I love choose to gather, whether it be at a local hockey arena across town, a Cafe around the corner, or my best friend's living room.

Today I am writing cross-legged from smack dab in the middle of my bedroom floor. Because I can. And because there's no place quite so honest- wrinkled bedding and all. Happy beautiful Tuesday from my home to yours. Whoever, whatever and where ever home may be.

With love,

J.