Home is Inside. In More Ways Than One.
What is home? Beth Bruno writes her version. I share mine.
The lovely and often very lyrical Beth Bruno has a home in the country, found love later in life, and the two have combined in that uber-happy way that things can if we are open to serendipity. Having not read a piece of hers for a while, my excuse was that I was five weeks in Africa, yesterday I saw that she’d been writing again and I leapt on this piece. Here you go:
So glad I did.
Beth’s essay spoke directly to me in a variety of ways, in part because I had last year sold a home I’d inhabited with great love and affection for some fourteen years. I jettisoned my aging ass to the Pacific Northwest, where for months I struggled to finish projects, watched as wildfires got too close for comfort, and engaged in the process of discarding long-loved things, buying new ones and creating a nest out of the new.
It was most disconcerting, done under quarantine, and late in life. And exciting as hell. What perhaps struck me the most were several themes…
