Home is where the heart is, traditionally. Nowadays, opinions differ. Home is where your other half (and presumably also your heart?) is? That’s a bit dangerous, imo. Home is where your favourite armchair is? Nope. My favourite armchair is a sofa, but I’m planning the next one already.
Home is where the corkscrew is? Now we’re getting somewhere…
Last week, I went on a flying visit to my old ‘home’ town, to visit family. It’s always an odd sensation, wandering through Glasgow city centre. So much has changed, so much of ‘my’ old city has gone. The feeling is the same but oh my, how different it is there now. So your childhood home isn’t necessarily your adult home, especially when you don’t live there any longer.
Home is where your kids are? Only while they’re dependent on you, I think. Home is where your mortgage is? Hm…
Home is where your wifi connects automatically? A bit outdated, nowadays.
Then came the fateful Thursday of my trip, and I knew exactly where home was. What happened to cause this epiphany? It was one of those events dreaded by everyone, and unfortunately something most people go through at least once in their lifetime.
A large chunk of back tooth detached itself from my jaw.
And I realised immedately: Home is where your dentist is. And tomorrow morning at 8.15, that’s where I’ll be too…
linda huber 
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