HOME: the place there’s no place like
Long ago, in the land of Summer 2008, when Kohl’s still sold two-piece bathing suits that had both pieces and when blogging was still high on my To Do list, I started writing a letter to Dorothy of Oz expressing my thoughts on home.
Dear Dorothy,
Remember when you were in Oz and all you could think about was going home? You made some friends, had some adventures, and saved the world—all while maintaining a rosy glow and locks curled to perfection. Then with a little click of the heels, you were home. The End.
But what about the happily ever after part. Do you ever long for Oz? As you walk the colorless trails of Kansas, do you dream of the yellow-brick road? Do you wonder how Tin Man is holding up or if those Flying Monkeys have had a change of heart? Do you miss the smells of the Emerald City or the sounds of the Lollipop Gang?
Probably not. Because you’re not real and this post is about to get way out of hand if I keep treating you like one of my oldest and dearest of friends…
Fast-forward to present day (cue sweater-weather, school, and a way-too-early Season’s Greetings from Hobby Lobby). If I were to finish my sentiments toward Dorothy, much crying would commence accompanied by a thorough expedia search of one-way flights to Bamako. Between the lines, wink wink, this is really about me. About how I’m not completely satisfied in either worlds—my carpeted Wal-Marting America or my dusty horn-honking Mali. So I shift between residing in the regretful land of If Only and the hopeful zip code of Happily Ever After. Because that’s what you do when you fall in love with your home(s). Just ask Dorothy, I’m sure she’d agree.
1 Comment
October 23, 2008 at 9:12 pm
Check your closet for a magical pair of sparkly red shoes, they might do the trick for you.
And I never really liked G anyways!