From the daily prompt Home Sweet Home.
When I was young we moved around a bit. I used to count sofas as to where we had been. The first I remember is a hard brown and white checked sofa. I used to curl up and go to sleep on it. Then there was the green soggy one – this was my favourite sofa. We kept it for ages and when I was away it was that sofa I though of. But it changed and became a wooden framed uncomfortable thing. Then another green one, but this was upright and hard. There were a couple of unmemorable changes and then the leather one I have now. It has got to be my favourite. It is out-sized for me – even my feet don’t touch the ground when I sit in it, but it is home.
Except I don’t think it is the sofa. I think it is everything and the sofa. My parents and the soft sound of the TV or music. The smell of home-baking and soot (all our heat and food comes from a coal fired Rayburn). The snores from my dog and the soft warmth of my cat curled up on my lap. That is home.
That is what I think of when I am away from home. It is a cacophony of smells, sounds and sights. I can’t put my finger on one thing – it would be like asking someone which instrument sounded the best in the orchestra. It isn’t about one thing but all of them together. And it changes. When I was a child it included toys and hot milk, then music, and now it is the smell of an open fire.
But then that is not surprising as home is where you belong and can be yourself. You don’t have to pretend or put a brave face on. There is no need for polite conversation or forced smiles, you are home.