A wandering woman writes about home

My fellow wandering woman has been musing about "home" this week, in two lovely, perfectly kinetic posts.

In The Journey as Home, she muses on the scentscape of Antwerp, where she now wanders, that of Istanbul, her last stop, and New Zealand, where her journey started. Her post stayed with me all day, bringing back my own cherished scentscapes, from the sweet scent of wet stone that leads me up Calle Tentenecio on rainy Salamanca days, to the dry seaweed and salt sea air aroma that always takes me back to Rhode Island, where I grew up on the edge of a bay. As I step out from safe employment to whatever's next, much too gingerly most days, her post reminds me I'm only headed to my familiar and beloved in-between.

In Another Idea of Home, she continues:

Many things have become 'home' for me. My childhood home is gone but the time and the people I grew with are still there, in reality and in memory. There are new friends who have quickly grown into familar old friends who become another home to me; there are the places I have loved and still love, and oddly enough, the taste of a nice red wine can also inspire something akin to a sensation of homecoming. Airport departure lounges, Singapore on a break between flights, the cabin of the big jet taking me home, taking me someplace new; the journey ... all are familiar.

Home: a smell, a taste, a sound, a person, a place, a time ...

I remember the moment when Salamanca became "home"; in a flash, in Patio Chico, I knew I was right where I should be. Home that night was an Ella tune (Duke's Place) and a bass solo. Now I'd add morcilla with rice, my fellow Salmantinos' musical castellano and the cling clang conversation of ancient bells, answering each other on the hour.

If you haven't yet wandered over to visit a wandering woman writes about her world, you're missing a daily feast of words and images.