I'm A Homebody

The definition of a homebody:
home·bod·y
n. pl. home·bod·ies
One whose interests center on the home.

Noun 1. homebody - a person who seldom goes anywhere; one not given to wandering or travel;
stay-at-home

Yes, it’s official, I am a homebody. I love my home and I love staying home. I certainly have not been Blessed with the gift of wanderlust, which makes me feel sorry for my husband as every once in awhile he gets the urge to travel and the desire to ‘get away from it all’. I have no need to get away because my home is my getaway. I love being surrounded by familiar things, I love being surrounded by family and friends, I do enjoy warmer weather at home because my postage stamp of a backyard is my tiny oasis, but all in all, no matter the weather, no matter the season, home is where I most like to be. And while I will agree it’s nice once in awhile to get away from the routine of your life, I am not gone from home too long before the longing for home sets in. I am a homebody.

I remember years ago my sister-in-law Rhoda talking about how she loved getting away and she loved going on vacation and she couldn’t understand how I didn’t plan and take a vacation at least once a year. I tried explaining to her that I felt no need of a vacation, but I guess the fact that I didn’t feel the need to get away was as strange to her as her need to leave her home seemed so foreign to me.

I do enjoy day trips, and I especially enjoy visiting others in their homes. I enjoy getting a glimpse of how they like to live, their taste in furniture, the things they like to collect, and in what ways they may choose to indulge themselves.
I don’t have a very big interest in how ‘the other half’ lives, although it’s fun sometimes to see how the rich and famous choose to spend their wealth, but I find everyday people so much more interesting. The wealthy, the prominent, the celebrities are no real magnet for my short attention span, but the ordinary, the commonplace, familiar run-of-the-mill people, now there lies my fascination.

I think that might be part of the attraction of old furnishings for me too. When I find a piece of beat up old furniture that appeals to me I like to think of the history of not only the furniture but also of the former owners and what else these people may have surrounded themselves with in their homes. What possessed the original owner to first purchase this particular piece of furniture? How many families did this piece service? How did it get this scratched and warped? And when I find an old piece of a tattered doily, I wonder what was the function of this doily? Was it an arm cover for a chair? Was it a gift lovingly made for a new bride? Or maybe it was a piece of a hand-made bonnet to welcome a new baby? Was it made to adorn a table in the home? What occasion prompted someone to crochet such a pretty pattern? Was it a cherished heirloom handed down from mother to child and then lost among treasures in an attic somewhere, left behind in a hurried move? How could such a jewel get to be so torn and stained? How did I get so lucky to find this treasure at a White Elephant sale? How many owners did each of my discoveries have? How many homes hosted each find? What twists and turns along life’s road did these wonderful belongings take to make their way into my home?

I have a nosy interest in people and the choices they make and in the things they choose to share their homes with. Do they surround themselves with things of beauty, things with a history, things that are practical? Do they prefer plain or fancy? Does basic attract them, or are they drawn to something more ornate? Or are they like me and possess an eclectic collection of things in their home? Do they have a love of the bohemian?
What color palette do they prefer? Are they pastel, muted, and restrained in their color choice or are they more vibrant, daring to decorate their home with vivid colors? Are they sky and water, or are they earth toned?

But most of all, I’d like to know how people feel about their homes. Do they feel as I do, that their homes are a haven? Or do they think of it as a house, a roof over their heads, something to protect them from the elements and nothing more? Is your home more than just a place to hang your hat?

I think I can sum up my feelings about my home with words from the movie The Wizard of Oz. Dorothy says to Glinda the good witch, “If I ever go looking for my heart’s desire again, I won’t look any further than my own backyard; because if it isn’t there, I never really lost it to begin with.”

And my most favorite part when Dorothy clicks her heels together and repeats:
“There’s no place like home. There’s no place like home. There’s no place like home.”

I wholeheartedly agree.