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 Home ©

 by 

Michael Casey

Home is where  the heart is.

Homeless is outside a house looking in wishing it were your home.

Put into a Home is where due to circumstances a loved one has to be put into care.

As I talk to you this morning I have a drawing on the desk propped up by the computer speakers.

It’s a drawing of a girl with all her hair to one side, she has long eyelashes and is carrying a small bag.

Besides the biro drawing of the girl is a big heart and some stars, written above is “For Daddy.”

I have a notepad on the desk in front of the computer monitor so my girls love leaving drawings.

On the side of the fridge is this week’s spelling list, held there by magnets that aunty gave us.

On top of the fridge is a fruit bowl full of fruit and sweets.

By the fruit bowl is container full of pens and crayons, a shopping list in Mandarin beside it.

There are photos of family scattered about the house, in one corner photos of my mum and dad both long gone, but still much loved. When you get to Heaven you’ll see them is what I say to my girls.

We found a stilly photo of me so I put it on the shelf next to the huge red Chinese dictionary, the fairy from the Christmas tree  is also on that shelf waiting ever patiently for Christmas to return.

Behind me is a painting of an angel a Burne Jones copy, blowing a flute thing.

Girls shoes are scattered about the house, waiting to trip me up.

Behind the sofa in this room are two huge bags of soft toys, waiting  to escape.

Once my smallest is back home she’ll release the soft toys from their Jail.

Then she’ll line them up in rows and sitting on the teddy bear wooden stool she’ll be teacher.

All the toys have names and she’ll chide them as together they learn this week’s spellings.

Her big sister has her nose in a book, she’s determined to win a prize from the local library for reading the most books. I told her I read everything in the school library when I was young.

The sound of chickens comes from the living room LULU, not that lulu, but a chat show queen on Phoenix can be heard. Then my wife is on the phone while she shakes her big wok.

I look outside and am pleased to see my sea of shamrock, I transplanted it here many years ago, it nearly died during the harsh Winter we just had but now I have enough for all of Riverdance.

I’ll stop there for now.

But you can see what I’m on about. A home is a combination of all the things I’ve just talked about.

A home is a physical place, but it is much more than that. It’s the little things inside the house that turn it into a home. Such as the Looney Chick toy that I’m using as a cushion, my girls brought it back all the way from Shanghai last year, and now we use it as a cushion.

The drawings on the desk in front of me are done with love by my girls.

Sharing a pack of Rolos, even though you love them so much, this is home, this is family.

In the end, where there is love then there is a home. Without the love even if your home was better than a 5 star hotel, then it really wouldn’t be a home, it would be just a location.

For as we all know Home is where the Heart is.