Holidays at Home

We’re finally past the Winter Solstice and its glitzy imitator Xmas, while New Year’s festivities loom. All three boil down to a celebration of rebirth, a chance to find your way home.

“Home” is a word – like love, hate, lust and war – that’s so fundamental to humans that it requires only one syllable. It’s the place where you’re safe to eat, sleep, mate and dream. It can be heartfelt delusion, golden memory or a warm hearth surrounded by your spawn.

There are far too many bereft of such contentment. Whether it’s temporary residents at the Open Door Mission, the unfortunates illegally corralled in Alligator Alcatraz, or those who have simply lost or surrendered what they once had, such loneliness can kill.

As an unattached fella, I had Xmas dinner alone at a crowded sushi restaurant. I was warmed, not just by hot saké, but also by the celebrations going on around me. Even the frantic sushi chefs were smiling. But Umami’s, while familiar, didn’t feel like home.

So I left for mine, where my cats, books, memories and regrets awaited.