Sitting for hours, perusing books in a well-stocked book store has always been one of our favorite ways to while away an afternoon. And when the book store has a good selection of titles related to interior design, architecture, and food, all the better.
Because these books speak of home - the place that shelters the body and cradles the soul.
And when the words tell of dwelling beautifully and fully, I listen deeply. And I study and make notes and save those images that speak lovely. I am a student of shelter, and have been for as long as I can remember. I dream and sketch and plan spaces that don't even exist. I build houses in my mind, and can see them as clearly as if I were there, standing right there, in the room. In doing all this, I've not only developed an appreciation for good, tasteful design, but I've learned (am learning) to interperet home in the language of our family - to read how we live, see who we are, and recognize what speaks of us.
I grin, now, and chuckle at myself.
Because at the present time? We could say that our family is homeless. Both the summer house and our dwelling here are temporary; we have no home.
Yes, we are.
And really? I'm not too sure about that word, homeless. Because, even though we don't own a structure for living, I'm beginning to see that all this time I've been storing up home and it has come along, spilling out here and there, wherever we've lived.
Even though the structure may be absent, our home is happening, right here.