An address. We all have one: 55 Center Avenue., 12 Lily Drive, 36 Old Run Lane, 3 Pine Boulevard. The place where our lives unfold, where our children grow up, and where our diligence is invested is reduced to a combination of numbers and letters. My life deserves more than that.
Ever read the novel or see the movie Gone with the Wind? Scarlett, the story’s protagonist, doesn’t battle the hell of America’s Civil War for an address. She battles for Tara. Yup, her home is named Tara. Elegant and graceful, that name turns a house into a living, breathing, feeling persona.
Elrond, an elf king from JRR Tolkien’s novel The Fellowship of the Ring, doesn’t live at 8 Keebler Drive. He abides in Rivendell, a place of magic, history, and tradition. And Bilbo, Tolkien’s famed hobbit, spends his hours at Bag End.
Even Shakespeare’s greatest tyrant, Macbeth, went home to Inverness. Yes, Inverness ultimately houses a grisly murder, but I’d much rather be murdered in a place called Inverness. 13 Elm Street just doesn’t have the same charm.
This morning, I’ve been thinking what I could call my home. It’s a warm, welcoming, humble dwelling. It sits on a small swatch of property shaded by tall pines, silver birches, and mighty oaks. Perhaps, The Glade would be an appropriate name for my home. Or maybe, because it’s built on a knoll, Summers’ Hill would work well.
Still, I’m glad I can call it home. My wife is there. My children are there. Yes, home sounds good.