Defining terms

From the time I was a very little girl, my Aunt Myra used to tell me that “any place you hang your hat is home.” She meant it as a slight insult – that I moved in and took over. I understood it to be a compliment – that I was comfortable wherever I went. I guess I assumed that home went wherever I went, like the cloud of dusty dirt that always surrounds Pig-Pen.

It is true that I always feel at home wherever I go. Make myself comfortable. Enjoy – or mentally redecorate! – my surroundings. I moved 15 times and always enjoyed making myself a new home. Finding the nooks and crannies and charms of each new space, and designing my life within accordingly. It was my special talent. I even made a business of it. In fact, I made a life of it.

And now? Now I have no idea of home. I have no idea where I actually live. Yes, my current abode, all 840 square feet of it, meets my needs, accommodates – sort of – my goods. Looks presentable. Passes. But where do I FEEL I live?

I loved them all, but the places that I tried to make my really and forever homes were first, 25 Warren Place, Montclair, NJ. Then, when that bombed, my life moved on and led me to 8808 SW Rambler Lane, Portland, OR.
I really loved both of those beautiful places, and the people with whom I shared them.

But they both ended, and I made home in Arlington, VA. Three times. Twice in the Belvedere high-rise: first in Unit 325 with Jesse and Tizzy, then in Unit 1119 with Tizzy until his death in 2009, Mother until her death in 2010, and Hannah. Now I live in Arlington Village with me and my tinnitus.

All this is being written about right now because I just watched “Zero Dark Thirty” about the capture of Bin Laden. After the deed was done and the military project manager played by Jessica Chastain boards an Army plane sent to take her out of Abbotabad, Pakistan, the crewman asks her “Where do you want to go?” She looks at him with an incredulous expression that says “I can move troops and mountains and have Bin Laden assassinated, but I have no idea where I live.” She had no idea where to put herself. Where to say her home was. Where she wanted to be and with whom. Who - now that her assigned deed was done - cared?

The camera held on her stupefied face for a long time before fading to black.
I knew exactly what that single tear trickling down her cheek meant.
I knew how she felt.
Bewildered.
Lost.
How had it come to this?
Where can I possibly hang my hat now, she wondered, and call it home?

Like her, I have no idea.
Like her, I have no answer.
Fade to black?
Or… remember my early realization that home is wherever I am.
Like the cloud of dusty dirt that always surrounds Pig-Pen.

.

    —Originally written on Saturday, January 16, 2016, 12:42 p.m. 
            In Arlington, VA    At home?