There's No Place Like It

I've been thinking about home a lot in the past few weeks...obsessing actually.It never ceases to amaze me how i can go months without a single pang of home sickness, to suddenly being overwhelmed by it. The tricky thing is, I'm never clear (to myself or others) where exactly "Home" is. In my mind home isn't so much a place on a map, as feeling. A sense of "Homeness" if you will. For ten or more months a year, my home is here in Ottawa. This is where my life is, its where school is, and its where i seem to fit best. Here in Ottawa i have purpose, i have goals, and i have the means to realize them both. In Sarnia, however, this isn't always the case. When i was growing up i never felt so much that i was going somewhere, as much as i was waiting to go somewhere. Once i arrived in Ottawa i knew that this was it, this was "Home".

That having been said, nineteen years back in Sarnia certainly left their mark. If you can believe it, in Ottawa being from a town of only 75,000 people makes you a country boy. But I'm starting to accept that, at heart, it may be true. As time goes on, things here in the nations capital start to look different. The streets feel hopelessly crowded with people seemingly unaware of everything around them. Trash appears to be everywhere, you're surrounded by noise constantly and the whole world just feels... coarser. Its like living in a world of sandpaper; what's mildly annoying at first become maddening as time goes on. It doesn't help that generally around the same time i truly begin to miss my family. All of a sudden Ottawa beings to feel more like a prison, and i find myself longing to go back to Sarnia. Back "Home".

This year the need to see my family has been excruciating. My Grandfather, who has been is poor health for some time, has recently had some bad spells and more visits to the hospital. Though my mother assures me he is home comfortably, and is in the best shape possible at his stage of life, i know i wont feel completely at ease until i can see him for myself. On the bright side, my sister has just given birth to her second; nine pounds and ten ounces of beauty called Adelaide. I'm refusing to see pictures until I've met her in real life. This may make me sound like the worst uncle in history, but i see it like this: Would Columbus have been so excited to discover America if someone had sent him the postcard first? I'm going to guess not. needless to say though, the wait is killing me.

So what am i doing to cope with all this? This year, i got a Christmas tree which is affectionately known to me and my roommate as "Bernard the Happy Christmas Tree". As sappy as it may sound (yes, pun intended), decorating the tree definitely took me back to the countless times i spent in my parents house, pulling out decorations and cursing profusely as i stepped on yet another plastic snowflake (seriously, they are the destroyer of feet). I realize that its not so much of a Christmas thing, as a "home" thing. Every time i walk through the door Bernard reminds me a little bit of home, and that whether it be in Sanria or in Ottawa, its never as far as it may seem.

Bernard. The lone Bulb at the top pays homage to the Charlie Brown Christmas tree

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