Perhaps "home," like "love," is a word whose meaning is as plain to each person as the nose on anyone's face and yet whose meaning cannot be nailed down. Is it simply a place where an individual grew up, even if being grown-up carries with it its own tickling tendrils of vagueness? Is it a place of perpetual welcome, of safety, of nakedness and lost socks? Is it a place to which each might long to return or perhaps steer clear of? Is it a place where the truth can be told as it cannot in other venues? Is it a set of circumstances that cannot be improved ... or can?
Everyone knows what s/he means by "home," I suspect, and yet when asked to say what, precisely, is known, the answer resounds off surrounding peaks ...
"Wubba, wubba...."
For me, home is where i know where the bathroom is, and parking. The problem with "not home" is having to search for such amenities.
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