Real estate people who advertise homes for sale are mistaken. Houses can be bought and sold, but homes cannot. A home is made up of people. Perhaps a home is only a bed and a few square feet of floor space but to someone, it is food, shelter, safety; it is a home.
Houses fascinate me, houses with long histories, houses of famous people, large houses. I am especially entranced by abandoned houses, those that are falling down and sadly neglected. But, I wonder if love lived within those walls. I wonder if they echoed with laughter and resonated with feelings of safety and a refuge, the warmth of family.
One spring, my sister-in-law and I went for a drive far out in the country. We drove past remains of houses where people used to live but were falling down, long neglected and past all hope of rescue. They were small houses and the people who lived there probably didn’t have an abundance of income, but as we gazed at those abandoned places, I wondered about the families who lived there at one time. Were they happy? Did they have good times of togetherness? To someone, a long time ago, they were home.
In the Ned McNeil moonlight series of cozy mysteries, I feature houses. Ned’s house has been in her family for generations. It is empty except for Ned, her cat Penny and her dog Ulysses, but to Ned, it is home. In By the Fright of the Silvery Moon, another old house, a church house, has a prominent place in the story and Ned joins an Old Houses club. That, may I add, had disastrous results. And, in the soon-to-be-published Moonstruck and Murderous, a beautiful, centuries-old house, stately and dignified, comes to the forefront. But, is this house a home or does it shelter dark, sinister secrets?
Can all the dissent and restlessness, and unhappiness in this world be traced back to the home? People searching for a home or missing the values that are taught and lived in a loving home, or trying to acquire a home by taking someone else’s. It’s just a thought.
Home is a place where people know me and accept me. Home forgives and gathers me close. Others may turn their backs on me , but not my home. Home is made up of family or friends or memories and hopes and dreams. There is always a place for me at home. It is where love lives.
Manos Mysteries
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