What makes home for you?

When is a home, a home? An office, an office? A place to lay your head, a place to ... oh, you know.

Is there a favorite painting, a favorite memento, a favorite trophy, a favorite you name it and it makes you feel all warm and cozy?

One of the things that usually makes me feel we've established a new home (whether indeed we own it or not) as we move through the vagabondish ways of the UMC system, is a framed photo of a cover of the Sporting News from my senior year in high school way back in the 40s, or something like that. Seems I can't remember what I used to be able to forget.

The cover is of Archie Manning from his senior year in college. It was given to me years ago by a roommate and I thought the wealth of friendship it took to not only give that away but framed it so wonderfully was something I've always thought I would like to emulate. Interestingly, I haven't seen the photo yet.

So, we're still in a transition period, with our goal a lazy jaunt of two boxes a day. What I've come to see is that though I did a pretty good job picking the house, I never looked at how much storage space we might have and we don't have enough. Period. But we're figuring it out. It's all part of the puzzle.

As the boxes come down in number (at least in the filled variety), things are beginning to take shape at our house and at our church office. Yesterday, I took my office chair down to the office. For the first time, somewhat regretfully and somewhat embarrassingly, I felt like I belonged.

Searching for answers this morning, I saw that home is where the wifi connects automatically, it is where there's a comfy bed or a comfy couch or a certain pillow that you've had for years. Home is where, uh, the heart is, where the right bath is, where the right person or persons are.

My office chair has been through a lot. It was picked out new from Sams as I recall when we built a church in Gretna 10 years ago. It survived Katrina, that witch of a storm nine years ago. When I left Gretna because of said witch and moved to the Northshore, I asked for that chair and for the laptop I had been using at the church there. I received both. The laptop is long dead. The chair, beginning as am I to show its age and its wear and its tear, has been in every office I've used for all these years.

It accepts me as I am, which is not what I was. I've, er, grown into the plushness that once was with this chair and as it diminishes because I have grown, it still holds onto me like a tired old leather glove.

It is but a chair, but it is history, for me. It is where I've been and it is where I intend to go. Putting it on the truck and then taking it out of the back and literally driving it down a city sidewalk because we have no parking at our UPTOWN Community church gave me a thrill and a satisfaction.

Daddy was home, when I wheeled her in there. The fact no one stopped me, asked me questions as I drove her for more than a city block shows me where home is, NOLA, of course, where no one asks questions of strangely dressed emissaries of peopledom.

So, the eagle has landed. I found a blackboard and some chalk yesterday, and I began to establish a series of priorities for us. Where we need to go. I like to have a big ol' white eraser board, but this weathered (sense a theme). I put things into categories. I wrote themes for new teams that we will be establishing. I pondered some, thought some more, and did nothing.

But man, sitting in my chair gave me ideas. I just need, to quote from my grandchildren, to let it go.