Rob and I have moved several times over the years. Enough times to know that the old saying ‘home is where the heart is’ absolutely rings true. It’s not about the bricks and the mortar, the location, the size or the shape, it’s about the love shared, the memories made and the happy times.
We moved once again over the Easter weekend into a new house in a new location. It’s strange and it’s exciting, full of possibility. The nervous butterflies are fluttering in my tummy and the tingle of eager anticipation is prickling my skin.
We’re looking at a blank canvas which in my mind’s eye I’m painting with all the colours of the rainbow. The sun is shining through and it looks beautiful.
We leave behind the place we called home for the last five years but we take with us the essence of that home; the essence that is always with us and makes any place we choose to call ‘home’, our true home. We also take with us the friends we have made in our neighbours and many happy memories, leaving behind some not so happy memories, such is life.
This new house is old, with strong roots. It needs a lick of paint and a little tender loving care to bring it alive. It needs our touch to make it ours, for here, for now, for however long or short our stay may be.
It’s the little things that make a house a home: the old, familiar candle holder that has travelled from place to place; the new, sheer curtains; the smell of baking; the laughter.
It’s time now for new beginnings. As Rob and I turn the page I’m thinking of the memories waiting to be made and I feel warm. Today, we start.