home

Home is a place that is intangible. Your house is a place you can point to on a map. You can hang a wreath on the door of a house. You can even place a Home Sweet Home mat on the entry steps. But home is different. A person can be your home. A smell or a feeling can conjure a home. I have always envisioned Wisconsin as a wonderful place to build a home. I love this state's rolling farmlands and the dichotomy of the seasons we experience here. I have always felt right living here. Until I met Mark I thought home was here in the heartland. When we fell in love though, I realized that my sense of place was deeply rooted within him. He told me once that I felt like home to him. This was very early on in our relationship. It completely blew me away thinking that I could provide that feeling of a safe haven to another person. When we moved for Mark's job to a place that was very unfamiliar both in geography and native people, I was equally terrified and exhilarated. I knew that I could make our apartment in Bakersfield our home. In fact, I worked very hard to carve our names into that albeit temporary dwelling place. Mark told me that I succeeded in making our house a home and it made me sigh with relief.

Being home to someone is a great responsibility. It takes constant care and gentle nurturing. In some cases it takes fighting to keep that home safe and sound from things that could hurt it or disrupt it.

I let a piece of what made home to me travel all the way to Africa this year. I deeply invest in my sister. I always have. She has always been this precious commodity to me. She is the part of my home that is a kindred soul, a pusher, an inspiration and one of the brightest lights in my life. Without her here, there is a piece of home that is missing from me. We are always side by side in spirit. She is always swirling around in my thoughts. I wear a piece of her clothing daily to encourage me to be better as a person. I hope the home of mine that she took with her comforts her when she is feeling lonely or overwhelmed in such a different place with such dire needs.

There are no two people more different than my sister and my husband. They are polar opposites in almost every topic imaginable. But each of them make up such a profound piece of who I am.

My pieces and fragments that construct my home are many and varied in composition and location. In this way, my sense of home can never truly be wholly in one place. I will always be missing someone or something or somewhere. But in doing this fractal home creation, I feel like I will never be homeless since all my pieces are in so many places, times and in such different types of people.