I'm back at Moss Hill after a week away visiting family on my old turf. It had been a long while since I was last there, and I had more than a few flashback moments, not the least of which was seeing my niece's 14 yr old daughter, so like her mother was at that age that I openly gawked.
I spent a good lot of time crashing into memories, all good, but still - so much.
It has me thinking again of just how broad our definition of "home" is: Besides where we live now (which may or may not be "home"), and where we wish home could be, home may be where our parents are, or were; our childhood home; the streets and skyscapes of our past; where the people are who knew us "when". To that, add the small town where my parents were born, raised, married, and started their family, my sister and brother born there, the place of grandparents and cousins and aunts and uncles. How many Thanksgivings did we spend there, when there were more of us, when "we" meant "all of us"? Too few, maybe, but enough to mark my heart forever.
Besides all that, what do we think of these chairs?
They're 6 for $75 on craigslist. They come with a table, which I don't want. I do, however, need chairs. I would paint and reupholster them, natch. I have the promise of a sister coming to help with projects in the spring.
Lots of choices for fabrics. I like these:
mouse over images for source
Do you have a favorite, or an alternative option to suggest?
Home is a name, a word, it is a strong one;
stronger than magician ever spoke,
or spirit ever answered to, in the strongest conjuration.