Of course, if you were passing through tiny Annville, Pennsylvania, United States, and happened to see an old red brick Victorian house, you might wonder, “Who on earth lives THERE?”
The answer: We did!
But we moved out in 2006. Mom had died, Dad had retired, and all five of us children had settled elsewhere. I don’t think of home as a place anymore; I don’t want to attach that deeply again. Nor do I think of home as a set of loving relationships; the course of my life has taught me to keep people in my heart, to carry them with me always, and for that to be enough.
Instead, I think of home as a ritual. Specifically: breakfast and morning pages. No matter where I go in the world, if I have my coffee, my notebook, and a good pen, then I am home. And I only realized this when I said it aloud to Dad while we were talking.
So I was inspired to go through my travel archives. Here are a few pictures of my homes from all over the world 🙂