I'll light the fire, you put the flowers in the vase that you bought today

Home is...

- where the heart is.

- where I lay my hat.

- the nicest word there is.

- wherever I'm with you.

- what you make it.

As a child, my home changed every couple years, from one town for a couple grades, on to another neighboring town for a few more, until I hit junior high and my parents bought the house that they still live in today. Six years in one home was the longest I'd known to that point, and then it was time to forge my own path. Four dorm rooms and one part-time residence in the boyfriend's apartment were given the label of home during my college years, followed by a few more apartments during our twenties. Our "starter house" ended up being where most of our adult lives were lived; thirteen lucky years of calling one dwelling home.

Until we turned the page again.

After a year in a rental in our new fair city, we moved into what we've long awaited. The home where our hearts and hats will reside for a long, long time to come.

This summer, we will flip the calendar to mark one year in our new home, likely pushing the descriptor new out of the picture. In that year, I've moved furniture around a little bit, arranged the wall hangings to enough of my liking, and settled into a cleaning schedule that keeps things looking decent, though as usual, more decent on Monday than come Friday evening.

Home is here.

But what is it that has remained the same from our first 1-bedroom, upstairs apartment in my little college town to today? Regardless of the total square feet or quality of the home furnishings, there's a spirit that I feel now in our house that I remember feeling in my tiny dorm single. 

It's the sound of music wafting through the open windows.

It's the warm scent of a candle burning.

It's the feel of a cozy blanket.

It's the cacophony of chatter and laughter.

It's life.

Wherever I've lived, whether it was by myself in one little room or with my crazy crew of five humans and two canines, there's a vividness of life that permeates the space. Sure, my family photos may be framed and hung on actual nails instead of photographs scotch taped directly to cinderblock walls these days, but the effect is no different. There are blankets by every puffy couch and chair, the shelves are crowded with books and games, there are half-chewed dog toys in the corner, and the fridge is covered in LEGO magnets, school papers, coupons, and lists. Our style, if one wanted to try to apply that term to us, can probably best be described as hodge-podge, and it may not seem like much to anyone else, but to me, our home space is us.

And when I think of the concept of home, that's all I want, really. Just life. I want our home to feel alive-- with laughter, with love, with life.

Even though we have no place to light the fire inside... yet... I'll place the flowers on the table as I vacuum up dog hair– again– and enjoy simply feeling at home.

Title inspiration: "Our House" by Crosby, Stills, and Nash