Home

"Turns out they were right again . . . if it's true home is where the heart is, 

I guess now I'm homeless." 

That lyric has been haunting me over the past two months.  I have felt without a home for a while now.  The transition from Augusta to Cedar Rapids - from Georgia to Iowa - will perhaps be complete when the last box is unpacked (that will take a while!) or maybe once I've been here a year of seasons or maybe there is some other definition of adjustment that I am not thinking of at the moment.  

Change takes time.  I was out of town this weekend, and when the thought of going home flashed across my mind, it was not Cedar Rapids that my mind called up, it was Augusta.  I didn't realize it the first time, but the second time when discussing with my son when we would leave to go home, again, it was a flight image of Augusta that came to mind.

I start a new job tomorrow; when I think of that, an image of my old school grounds scampers through my mind.  I consciously know that I will be working in a different setting at a different set of tasks, but my mind has an ingrained image of work as that old setting.

A quick review: I moved to Augusta to be married.  When that reason no longer existed, I thought of leaving; however different reasons kept me in place. For a long time, I complained - even railed - about Augusta, Georgia, and the South. It was where I lived, but as  location, I never thought of Augusta as home until this past weekend.

In fact, my friends in Augusta can tell you that I have talked about being an outsider or not at home there in varying degrees over the years.  I probably mentioned it most in relation to lack of snow in the winter and high summer temperatures.  Even having lived there fourteen years, when someone asked where I was from, I would say that I lived in Augusta, but I was from Iowa.

Everyone has moments in life when you just feel foreign.  I had it when I first lived in the Soviet Union. The language, the culture, the KGB - it was all foreign.  When I first moved to Augusta, I remember hearing a conversation between a bricklayer and another man; I could not understand one word they were saying.  I asked what language they were speaking.  English.  Huh?  I have a degree in linguistics and have studied languages for the past 25 years.  I was in East Central Georgia, USA, and I could not understand the English being spoken.

It's not just language that will make you feel foreign.  Customs, foods, pace of life, even time zones can play a role on whether people feel comfortable or at home.  People choose their homes or move their homes or stay in their homes for so many reasons.  Whether you have stayed in one place your whole life or moved multiple times, as I have, where, really is your home?

There is a host of aphorisms to define home.  Where our story begins.  There's no place like it.  Where you can be yourself.  Where we love.  Where one starts from.

As I was packing and unpacking boxes and feeling homeless, I started thinking that my home is actually a patchwork.  I have squares from childhood, college, and beyond.  I'm just now realizing that, yes, Augusta is part - an integral part - of that patchwork of home.  Places and people around Augusta will always be home.

My home is
Tara's patio on a breezy Sunday evening, the smells of Shishir's cooking wafting over us;
Liberty's winter solstice party;
the horses that used to run behind our house in Harlem;
Jamie's garage while he grills, Carrie makes her killer onion rings in the kitchen, and we all drink beer;
a chat with Jennifer in the hallway;
our book club with more wine and food than books;
Iris mowing her yard in the mid-day summer heat;
closing Monterrey's with Erin;
the classroom and office and auditorium at my old school;
boot camp and Tracy's "slower than pond water" shouts;
a tour of Franklin's most recent art acquisitions;
Christmas Eve brunch at Katie's;
the purgatorial Kroger parking lot;
appetizers and long talks in Jan's kitchen -
Augusta is part of my home.

I am most in agreement with Tad Williams on the concept of home:  "Never make your home in a place.  Make a home for yourself inside your own head.  You'll find what you  need to furnish it - memory, friends you can trust, love of learning, and other such things.  That way it will go with you wherever you journey."

So, that song may need revision.  Because, if home is where the heart is, I'm not homeless - I have homes everywhere, including with my loves in Augusta.

How was your summer?

“How was your summer?” has been reverberating in the hallways of high schools and across college campuses for the past few weeks.  The traditional “What I did on Summer Vacation” essays will have been read, graded, and revised within the next two weeks.   So, how was your summer?  How was your summer?  How was your summer? 

My summer wasn’t great, but it wasn’t bad either.  Like hundreds of thousands of people across the nation, my summer began with the end of school.  I finished my 24^th year in high school on June first.  For sixteen of those years, I was a classroom teacher.  So, a few days, a couple of meetings, and one well-intentioned but always ill-conceived end of the year luncheon after graduation, summer began. Not being a classroom teacher now, though, I work through the summer (like the vast majority of Americans).  The hallways are quieter, but the work continues: testing statistics, best practice research, cleaning out last year’s publications to make room for the next year.  We have things to do over the summer. 

Everybody does:

Vacations.

Cook outs.

Baseball games.

Beach trips.

Family reunions.

We all have things to do over the summer whether or not we work full time during these three precious months.  And, now here we all are at the end, ready to go back and report on how we spent our time.  Perhaps we share some common ground.

I revisited the city where I spent five college years.  I went to two weekend conferences there, and I still agree with myself: this is a great city to live in.  My son, who is a junior there, disagrees and argues that the tenor of the town changes when the undergrads are drunk in the streets.  Yep, I remember.  But, I wouldn’t be a part of that scene if I lived there as an adult.  Still a great place: cultural, gastronomical, athletic, literary opportunities abound.  In between those two weekends, I visited my parents in the town and home where I spent my formative years.  I hung out with a high school friend, a college friend, and a friend of my sister’s.  More traffic there.  I still mostly know my way around there despite an absence of thirteen years.  I feel like I could, indeed, go home again and be quite comfortable. 

Then, I spent some time alone.  Not by design, but due to the fact that eldest son was in summer school, middle son was on a beach trip with friends and then at summer language camp, and youngest son was with his dad.  I found out I can, pretty comfortably, not talk to anyone for hours on end.  A good thing?  I think so.  Middle son was worried that I became anti-social during this time.  Not so.  Also during this time, I was privileged to help a friend who was recovering from surgery.  Yes, I was alone, but I didn’t curl up or wither up.  I did the things that about fifteen years ago I would have lamented never having time to do:  read the whole newspaper, watch the movies I wanted to see, go to the bathroom alone, make exactly what I wanted for supper and then eat it while I read my favorite book.

Finally, it was road trip time.  Ten days up to New York state and back, including lots of points in between with middle son.  It is good to change your surroundings occasionally – from rearranging furniture to just seeing something new outside of the car window – this can refresh your approach to life.  And so it did for me.  We also did some planning for the future; he is a high school senior, and the future looms, inviting him to new places and marking changes for me.

We didn’t go to the beach and, blessedly, I only had to watch one baseball game.  For me this summer was about looking back when we were in Iowa; reviewing the past and the places where I come from.  It was also about discovering peace in the present.  Where I thought there might be panic or fear, I found that I enjoy my own company, and I have dear friends to spend time with.  Finally, in the college visit road trip, I have begun to embrace the future fact that two-thirds of my family will be gone next year at this time. 

Maybe you watched a lot of baseball; maybe you spent weeks at beach or did the family reunion thing.  Perhaps you had an illness to contend with or a wedding that launched you into a new life.  As a teacher and parent, September first has always been more of a New Year than the one in January.  As we enter this New Year, my hope for you is that you embrace what you have learned from the past, you have peace in your present, and some really great plans for the future.  How was your summer?