I lie down, wide awake, hugging my pillow. Nighttime finds me dreaming that I am shivering in the snow. Trying to find my way home. What is home? I vaguely remember it anymore. I remember holidays.
The smell of turkey cooking, cornbread stuffing, and the aroma of hot coffee percolating. TV shows with familiar characters. Storylines where all problems could be resolved in 30 minutes.
Dad’s laughter as he heard a corny joke. His eyes would light up and his toes would giggle. That giggle went all the way his body till he would start making a funny laughing sound, “Hurh, hurh, hurh.”
So funny watching him laugh that we would laugh hysterically.
I would go to the kitchen, after supper, and see if mom needed any help. I remember feeling the warm soapy water as I washed dishes with my mom.
Reading fantasy stories and working on holiday decorations. I remember playing with my sister and singing songs like “Ten minutes ago,” from Cinderella. Dreaming of my prince that would ride on a white charger. My prince and I would ride off into the sunset.
I remember being able to lay on the warm grass and look at cloud formations. Happy to be a child but facing the challenges of growing up. Mom and dad were there to listen, pray, and offer a warm hug.
Memories of a warm toasty fire in the fireplace. The smell of the pine burning and the sounds of crackling wood. The colors of red, gold, yellow, and orange giving the living room a holiday glow.
My dad would turn off the TV and would play the organ. The melodic sound of a 1940’s musical. Dad played it like it was a new song on the jukebox. I sat next to my dad on the organ bench.
Dad would play, “Counting Your Blessings.” That you could count your blessings instead of sheep.
What are my blessings now? I am trying to count them. I can think of a few. I have a home to stay at. I ate today. I sang a song. I went to work. Nothing spectacular in my normal routine.
However, I am discovering that life is all about the ordinary. Getting up, going to work, cooking, cleaning, taking care of obligations and commitments.
In the everyday, there are moments where you share a cup of hot chocolate. Sit across from someone, have a cup of coffee, and talk. Times you can giggle with a friend and watch a movie. Then there are rewarding moments. Where you can relax, drink a cup of camomile tea, with lemonade, and read a good book. When you see your child take his or her first step. When you accomplish something you did not think was possible.
Sometimes in the everyday you decide to help at a local shelter or soup kitchen. You see the look of those who are hungry, thirsty and have lost all hope.
Today was one of those days that I decided to help others. I offered a gray-haired gentleman some hot chicken soup that I had just made in the soup kitchen. The smell of hot soup smelled like home. The soup was hot and steamy and the man gratefully accepted a bowl. His clothes were tattered and torn. His name was Michael. Michael had a scarf to protect him from the cold air and wore an old winter coat. He mentioned about the last hurricane and how he had lost everything.
I heard so many stories of the hurricane. Stories of despair and loss.
Somewhere in the center, I heard a familiar song. It was about “Counting Your Blessings.” In the midst of “all this” someone was thankful. I could not understand why. She held her children tightly and started singing.
I asked the lady what her name was.
She said “It was Mabel.”
I asked Mabel, “Please tell me about your song.” Mabel was teary-eyed when she told her story.
“I was coming home from work when the hurricane hit my area. I went to get my children from school and I found out that they were safe. I was barely able to get to the center because of the storm.” Mabel said, “I am counting my blessings. Homes can be replaced. Things can be replaced. You can’t replace those who are dear to you. My children are safe. That’s all that really matters.”
I thought of what Mabel said.
“My children are safe.”
I got a little misty-eyed and gave Mabel a hug.
“You see,” said Mabel, “there’s always something to be thankful for.”
I started thinking of my dad and why this was his favorite song. I asked if I could get out the guitar and sing with her.
I know that I am no Bing Crosby or a famous celebrity, but singing with Mabel and her children this Thanksgiving was my greatest blessing of all.
My experience at the soup kitchen helped me realize that home is not necessarily a place. Home is a state of mind.
Some homes were not pleasant or happy. I am thankful that mine was.
Home will always be a place of love, laughter, music and warmth.
Home is what I carry with me everyday when I feel alone. Home is where my heart is.
