At the risk of getting my family’s hopes up for nothing, I must admit that there really is no place like home. Life is always easier at home. I enjoy living in Spain and in Europe and all that it has to offer. As a matter of fact, when I have the time to sort through my thoughts, I will write about my impressions on how the US is starting to lag behind Europe in many things and is becoming some what antiquated (yet not completely, Europe still has a lot to learn from the US). But, there is something about the climate, the vegetation, and the food of home, where ever that “home” may be, that makes being there special. This was the first trip home since moving to Spain six years ago that I felt that I was not ready to get back to Madrid.
As mentioned in one of my earliest posts, the aesthetics of home are what I dream of in my times of stress. I love the size and shape of the sky, the trees either bare or lush depending on the season. And unlike in Madrid, on the East Coast of the US, there is water everywhere, be it the ocean or rivers, streams, creeks, and ponds. I am content to just drive around taking everything in. Like my brother’s dog, Dixon, I can sit at the window for hours on end and watch the world as if it were squirrels to prey upon. But now I am back to Madrid and back to my life here, at least until my next trip home.
Grave Error 
But then we must remember, it is within the halls of the mind palace where find ourself, most often, at peace.
“Home” is a matter of temporal placement, if one so chooses.
I am very much at home in Madrid and very much so at home, home. Maybe it is the nostalgia and comfort that I experience at home where I feel the peace, where I get temporary placement. Who knows? Maybe it’s just schizophrenia.
My cousin a schiz? I should think not, unless you have entered an experimental drug phase of your life, that I am unaware of currently.
It is likely the nostalgia, coupled with the ambrosia of childhood recollection. We never let go of those moments, so the cerebral revisits, are always calming.
There are often times that just being with my father, regardless of the physical location, initiates the mental imagery and starts the playbacks. Shhh, don’t tell him, he’ll get the overblown ego trip, but we really enjoy his company. He has a way of making “home”, wherever he happens to be. We just don’t let him know … LOL.
Of course, we don’t want his massive ego to grow any bigger!!! Maybe it is just that being with them makes us feel a little younger and less “responsible” — responsible for others and for our selves. We get someone else to take care of us.
LOL … well, it is important to understand the inherent danger of the ego, hence: Caveat Chucktor!!!
Certainly, just like when we would all gather at Grandma and Grandpa’s house for the holidays, the sense of being cared for was always tremendous. There is another perspective too, that being in the family context allows for more unhindered sociality. We both remember some of the more “colorful” moments of those holidays, that mostly seemed to end in my having a didactic lecture from my father. Apparently, my sociality was less refined than what was acceptable … ? (LOL … oops)
Caveat Chucktor, now that is classic!!!
I think, as I recall, having you around was always something we (the kids) looked forward to, which directly coincided with not wanting your father around precisely for the reason of having to hear his didactic lectures. But, in retrospect, I am sure that the “adults” did not enjoy giving the lectures — at least I hope not — or shall I say, Caveat Chucktor.
Well, in all fairness, my father gave those with due impetus provided by me. We both knew they were coming, just a matter of when, and what sort of event prompted the necessity.
I think Chuck has always enjoyed being a father, and accepted the negativities that are just a natural consequence of the parenting umbrella of responsibility. He wasn’t such a talkative fellow in my youth, so it is doubtful he “enjoyed” the speeches, they appeared difficult for him most of the time. He’s rather pragmatic, and duly accepted his role, and its consequences.
At least life with family at Grandma’s house was never boring. (I still owe you and your father for all those years of ping pong abuse … no, I haven’t forgotten, and I may actually be traumatised by it in fact.) 🙂
Well, I alwasy lost the ping pong challenges with my father due strictly to mind games: him repeating, “the guy with more heart always beats the guy with more talent” every time he scored a point.
Yes, it is always, always easier being a kid than a parent, I suppose — hence (returning to the beginning of this dialogue), the nature of peacefulness (or “home”) when being with family.
Alright, enough cheese for the day. Don’t you have kids to be lecturing now? Oh, that’s right it’s day time there and here it is 9pm.