When Does a Place Become a Home...

il 29 novembre

Assisi

These last few days in Assisi are busy visiting with friends who I will not see for a few months, packing my suitcases, making sure there is nothing that I still want to buy, and, of course, savoring my last meals out. I am not cooking this week, except for making my coffee in the morning, and am treating myself to the local cuisine prepared by chefs who are far more skilled than I am. I saw Luciana and her daughter, Micol last night, said good-bye to Anne and Pino who are going to Napoli for a couple of days, and will spend some time with Francesco later this morning before he leaves for a week in Parigi. Fausto is in Cancun with his girlfriend and Eleonora is busy moving to a new apartment and may or may not be able to get together for un caffe. I am sitting at the table in my apartment listening to a CD of French and Italian songs that a lovely woman (a new acquaintance) named Francesca made for me after I heard the music while in her shop and commented that I enjoyed it. So for the next couple of days, I will be completely on my own once again, before leaving for Milano and seeing Corinna and her family on the Saturday before I fly home.

I often get lost in my own thoughts; perhaps it's day-dreaming... perhaps it's getting in touch with a part of my soul that lies deep...perhaps it's reliving memories of adventures I've had and people I've loved. It's that private part of me that I can choose to share or not, can laugh at or cry at; that part of me that lets me be if I allow it to, that part of me that is mine alone. And so I've been doing lots of “thinking” these last few days, thanking G-d for my many blessings, and “standing back” if only to get another perspective on how and why I am where I am at this point in my life.

I am old enough to have gained just a bit of wisdom and young enough to enjoy the lessons learned and to profit from what they have taught me. I am looking forward to going home on Sunday, to my apartment in San Diego that is my “safe haven”, to seeing my friends and my family, to those many hugs, and endless hours of talking and sharing. San Diego is my home and the United States is my country and, for this, I am very proud. Whenever and wherever I travel, I am very aware that I am an American, representing my country, and that I want to do this with grace and in good taste. I know there are many who would like to live where I live, but also those who would do me harm if they could because of where I live and who I am.

So what makes a place a home? There is, first of all, citizenship, and then where you feel your “roots” are. It's the place where you can sleep in your own bed, put food in your own refrigerator, and take a walk with your friends who live down the street. It's the place where everything is familiar and you feel secure in knowing just where everything is and how you fit in. I am happy to be going home, but “home” is different for me now; it is better because I return enriched by my time away, but it is also with the knowledge that there is another place that holds an important spot in my heart. I am not Italian nor am I a resident of Assisi, but being here for extended periods of time in the last year has been a gift, much needed and much cherished. It might not be my home, but it has become a familiar and happy place for me; a place that, at least for now, I would not want to leave if I didn't have a plane ticket to come back. It has become a “home” maybe just a little bit...