"Home"

 

 

Sydney M. Williams

 

More Essays from Essex

“Home”

October 19, 2024

 

“Maybe the best part of going away for a vacation – coming home again.”

                                                                                                     Madeleine L’Engle (1918-2007),

                                                                                                     Meet the Austins, 1960

 

A couple of weeks ago Caroline and I returned from a long weekend visit with a grandson, whom we love and are proud; but what really brought happiness was returning to our apartment on Monday. Charles Dickens is alleged to have said: “Every traveler has a home of his own, and he learns to appreciate it the more from his wandering.”

 

I have always liked being home, whether it was where I grew up, school or college, but especially the homes Caroline and I have made – from our first apartment to our six houses in four Connecticut towns, to our new home, an apartment at Essex Meadows. As we age, we are embraced by those we knew, know, loved and love, as well as by the places we have been and the people and events we have seen and experienced, all of which can be recalled through photos and mementos. Even on the bleakest of days, I gorge on memories of bygone days by observing and picking up treasures: photo albums, books, sculptures created by my parents, paintings and drawings, a few by Caroline, my parents, siblings, children and grandchildren.

 

On my desk are photos of Caroline, our children and grandchildren. There are photos of my parents and siblings, as well as ones of my grandparents. There are postcards from a brother, now deceased, who suffered from Prader-Willi Syndrome, a photo of the group with whom I skied in Vail every winter for twenty years, and a framed photo of an evening with Wodehousian Drones of New York. On the walls are drawings of my parents, paintings of our house in Old Lyme, portraits of Caroline and my mother, and a framed letter from P.G. Wodehouse to my uncle when a student at Andover. In Emma, Jane Austen wrote: “There is nothing like staying at home for real comfort.”

 

Home is awakening in a familiar bed. It is following a morning ritual – breakfast with the day’s newspapers. It is talking with Caroline about the day’s schedule, a few hours at the computer, a walk and cup of tea in the afternoon. A perfect day in eating dinner with family or friends, or while watching an old movie. In his book The Poet at the Breakfast Table, Oliver Wendell Holmes, Sr. includes this poem “Homesick in Heaven.”

 

“For there we loved, and where we loved is home,

Home that our feet may leave, but not our hearts,

Though o’er us shine the jasper lighted dome: –

The chain may lengthen, but it never parts!

 

In a 1938 posthumously published collection, The Coloured Lands, G.K. Chesterton wrote: “It is the main earthly business of a human being to make his home, and the immediate surroundings of his home, as symbolic to his own imagination as he can.” To which I reply, Amen!