"Home is where the heart is."
"Wherever I hang my hat, is home."
I wonder these days if I have a home at all, and I wonder where that would be, if it existed. The saving grace of it is that I've never really felt at home anywhere. Least of all my boyhood home. I was more of an outsider there than I am living here in Thailand.
"You Can't Go Home Again." That's a novel by Thomas Wolfe. I haven't read it, but I think that I know what he meant. You can't go home because IT'S GONE. None of those cheerful times from the flood tide of life can be replicated, because all of the settings, and all of the people, and all of the sentiments, and all of the emotions, are simply gone. It's sad to long for home, or even a feeling remotely like being "at home." You might as well long for the fucking Roman Empire.
Long time readers will recall that I hate the holidays like the Jews hate Hitler. My boyhood Christmases were nightmarish. I wouldn't wish them on anybody. There was a time, when my boys were young, when we all had a wonderful Christmas, with lots of company, and a big dinner, and nice phone calls to relatives. But it's been a long time since I could enjoy anything like that.
My new wife rather likes Christmas, even though she is a confirmed Buddhist with no connection to Christianity. Thank God! Christianity never made anyone happy. The Christmas tree is nice though, and the fellowship can be wonderful.
So we'll be fine, here in our tropical wonderland. Thankful for another good year. My Christmas wish is that all of my family and friends, everywhere, can have a great 2022, happy, healthy, and prosperous. All of you readers, too! I love you all. Weird as it seems, I have no outwardly directed negative thoughts.
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