Like many people in Sedalia, I’m not
that thrilled about the fair. Oh, yes, I’ve enjoyed concerts, walking through
the exhibits, working at the Missouri Coop Building, and have spent countless
hours on the midway while I kept an eye on the young ones in the family. I have
great memories, good memories, and wish-I-was-home-under-the-air-conditioner
memories.
The first night of the fair this
year was pleasant, but I was too exhausted to consider going. Since then, the
weather has ranged from hot to bake-a-cake hot. Then, there’s the occasional
thunderstorm. Oh, yes, we can be in the middle of a drought, but you can count
on rain during the fair.
One of the first things that crossed
my mind with “Come Home” was the exact feeling I always had when Jim and I
drove into Estes Park. We went to Rocky Mountain National Park each year, and
although some things changed from year-to-year, the predominant emotion was a
sense of homecoming.
Along with the eventual changes in
Estes Park were the inevitable changes in Jim. Our first trips, we spent
camping, hiking, and going to the Lazy-B Ranch for music and a delicious meal.
The last few times, we stayed in a cabin, and I watched Jim lose the ability to
camp and hike. It was the end of an era for us.
While Jim was in the nursing home, I
made a trip to Estes Park with my mom, sister, and sister-in-law. I hadn’t been
to the mountains for several years. It was like coming home to a different
house. Everything had changed so much physically and emotionally. Several of my
favorite shops had closed, the visitor’s center had grown into a huge hub of
activity, and the Lazy-B Ranch was no longer in existence. I didn’t have Jim to
cook a campfire breakfast, to sneak treats to “Chubby” the chipmunk, or to sit
around the campfire and tell tall tales.
We all know that everything changes
through the years, even our home. We may long for the familiar home of our
memories and to see loved ones who live in the homes of our hearts, but are no
longer with us.
Home is where our stories began and
where we became who we are. It doesn’t matter if we lived in a shack long ago
and now live in a mansion. There is a chunk of our being that is wrapped in the
recollections of our beginnings.
Home.
The word isn’t just any old word. Home is a word that entails a visual image in
3-D, complete with smells and sounds. Memories of home can be good or bad for a
lot of reasons. Regardless, it is a big part of each of us. The lessons we
learn from our parents mingle with our DNA to mold us into the adults we become
later in life.
Copyright © August 2019 by L.S.
Fisher
#ENDALZ
2 comments:
I get the feeling of wanting things to stay the same, especially when it comes to places that feel like home. I wonder if the onset of Alzheimer's affects that as much as we think. If we get stuck in certain memories, maybe there's a way we can make the pleasant ones. Anyway, we may not have to worry for long I read here https://www.ez.insure/2019/08/cure-for-alzheimers/ there may be a cure soon
I certainly hope so!
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