It is a spring-like day. The world is turning, preparing for Valentine’s Day. There is chocolate to buy and cards to send. Loved ones wait to read that they are Cool or The Best… at least when I was a kid. Little hearts say, ‘Will You Be Mine?’ We all want to be special to someone. Relationships matter. In grade school, we passed out flat Valentine’s Day cards to our classmates. A box was cheap, and you endeavoured to pick a card that fit the character of the person you were giving it to. Once, I gave a Valentine’s Day card to a girl named Sherry and spelled her name Cherry. Mortification! Sherry was gracious when a person pointed out the misspelling. The pitfalls of young love…

So many cords fasten us to the joys and sorrows of this life. We seek to return Home. This is the primary quest of our lives. We want our Valentine’s gifts to be just right and elicit a warm response from the receiver. Struggling and striving to find Home we go down many paths. There are smells and sights, sounds and feelings that remind us of Home. Fine Art reminds the Old Man of Home. Always has. Writing engages the Old Man’s mind and stirs his memories of happy times throughout his life. We complain about distractions and eschew suffering, but we do not want to leave this beautiful place.

What happens when we die? Do we cavilerly proclaim, ‘On to the next adventure,’ or do we seek to return to what we have known so fondly, with all the ups and downs of the rollercoaster ride life was? Do we change magically and mysteriously as if in a revelation? Is there a Waystation on the railroad of the afterlife that we consider the change? Perhaps the retail salesperson is still stocking the shelves and putting out sales signage in a retail establishment. The Lady’s Man may be seeking his next conquest. The minister is preparing his next sermon. The negligent mom and dad seeking their children to make ammends.

Have we come from a place of seeking Home at our birth, and are continuing our journey? According to the distraction of our death and our surprise at it’s occurence, are we seeking to return to Home and what is dear to us? Many folks report the presence of spirits or ghosts in their home who seem unhappy and dissatisfied with their plight. I have sought a smell of Christmas that intrigued me when I was a boy in Eldorado. I get a hint of it every few years, but never the full effect I noticed in the rental home, Neva J and I lived in the 60s.

Our ears perk up when the sounds of Home hit their aural memory banks. The smells of a fireplace, wood fire, and our favorite dog’s unique odor when she lays her head on our chest. The way our Mom laughed. Dad is smoking his pipe. We were safe…we were loved…we knew who we were and the direction to Home.