There is no place like home.

 

And this is why I don’t sleep … A story about OUR house and home.

I am really reaching this time, but here goes... This is a story about our house coupled by what seems to be a lifetime of a diasporic existence.  I submit, our story can be oddly compared to the Classic The Wonderful Wizard of Oz by L. Frank Baum. 

Really? Really!

Ehem., Clarification is just ahead…The Cowardly Lion, the Scarecrow, and the Tin Woodsman made their way with young Dorothy to the Land of Oz. Along a road of yellow bricks, through great struggles, they made their way to the great Oz himself! This is Clutch!

Later after they were all cleaned up and polished by the hospitable "Wash & Brush Up Co.", the Wicked Witch of the West appears in the sky, riding her broomstick, skywriting the words "SURRENDER DOROTHY.

In this Classic, the Wicked witch is a true threat. In addition, the idea of surrender remains an anathema – much like our separation from our home and house in Portugal. 

No one wants Dorothy to surrender to the wicked witch. They would do anything to stop this travesty, just as our kin are not willing for us to surrender to a never never return home to Portugal. I’m rooting for Dorothy on this one just as I am rooting for us.

In this dreamland of Oz, she and her companions are seeking their true selves, and their place in the world. To do this requires a consummate surrender.  We, in turn are struggling to create our own version of a dreamland and our surrender has been a dedicated mission awashed with torrential currents. 

As we reach the last and final chapter, Dorothy, eyes shut and gritted in faith, clicks her heels and repeats, “there is no place like home, there is no place like home, there is no place like home.” 

 

I click my heels and do the same, “there is no place like home.”

 

 

 

In Portugal.

Caminando....