If home is where your heart is, what happens if your heart has been stolen by someone in another country? As some of my regular readers will know, I made my home in the coastal reaches several years ago. In the small seaside town where I live, life has proceeded in fairly uninterrupted fashion. That is, until The Girl in Row B met the man of her dreams halfway across the Channel.
I’m a firm believer in the power of the universe to grant wishes. I’d asked for someone intelligent solvent, own hair and teeth, etc. I’m a Virgo (a.k.a. fussy), so as you can imagine, the product spec was quite lengthy...
In previously universal requests, I’d also mentioned I might like someone who didn’t live in the same place as me. Now don’t get me wrong…I wasn’t wishing for someone on the other side of the planet, just someone who didn’t live in the same place as me. Not too near, not too far.
The lesson here is to be extremely careful what – or who – you wish for. Because I now find myself in the curious position of contemplating life on the continent, having just completed the renovations on my new house – which isn’t. And this got me thinking…
A house is just bricks and mortar. It’s the memories you make with the people you love that create a home. Wherever that might be.
Pier Point 