Hubby and I spent Thanksgiving with his brother in Ohio, just the three of us savoring a turkey cooked on a charcoal grill. (It was delicious.) That morning, I found a copy of the morning crossword puzzle next to my chair at the kitchen table. My brother-in-law had noticed I was working one the previous night and printed this one out of the Cleveland Plain Dealer. It was more than a kindness, it brought back memories.

I’ve written before that my grandpa got me hooked on crossword puzzles when I was just learning to read. He did the dailies in the Columbus Dispatch, the Mansfield News Journal, and the Cleveland Plain Dealer. One of them featured a children’s puzzle and that’s how grandpa got me interested. I’d sit on his lap, careful of his cigar, pipe, or cigarette (got burned more than once!) and we’d work together.

I can remember walking with him to both the newsstands in town, one on the square and the other down a block or two, so he could buy each paper. I loved the creaky wooden floors, the smell of pipe, cigar, and cigarette smoke, and the sense the stores were gathering places. When I saw the newly printed puzzle Thanksgiving morning, I was that little girl again, but also deeply connected to Grandpa in that I was now doing the same adult crosswords he used to do–from the same newspaper.

My Poet Sister Dee writes mostly about geography and our innate, primal connection to it, our sense of place, our feeling of home. She explores the depth of emotions and fleshes out the ghosts of memories associated with the people, the land, and the structures where those spirits linger.

I once met a woman who didn’t have a connection to any particular place. Her family moved so often they never really settled, she didn’t attend the same school more than a year or two. Home was her family. While I understand that idea–I uprooted my young family almost 40 years ago to SC where it still remains ‘just us’ –but not having a physical foundation is foreign to me. At least once a year I dragged my kids ‘home’ so they could play in Heise Park, ride the coasters at Cedar Point, visit family, and be bored with the telling and re-telling of ‘When I was growing up here …’  

Going home to Ohio still involves place and family. Since Hubby and I are both from the state, though not the same area, we make a loop that circles from Lake Erie to the Olentangy River. This last visit felt a bit like being the silver ball in a pinball machine (showing my age) as we bounced around the state, connecting with old ghosts and making new memories.

In Medina on our way to mass Thanksgiving morning, we came upon an annual turkey trot with people running and jogging on the sidewalks and in the street. Something about the scene made me think of the stampede in the classic WKRP Thanksgiving turkey give-away episode and I immediately started looking for Les Nessman in his earmuffs and scarf.

It’s become tradition for Hubby and our grandson to eat at Skyline Chili. (They’d done it twice before so …) Our granddaughter isn’t a fan, so the two of us started our own tradition this year of eating at the Mexican restaurant that shares a parking lot with Skyline. And while we’ll never be members, we attend the same church when we’re there. After several times, it feels comfortable and familiar.

From central we bounced back a little north to my hometown for a too-brief visit. We spent a couple hours with my sister at the pub she co-owns, Pub House 123. It’s a great place, I finally got to see the re-branding and redecorating they did, and some friends joined us. Yet I still picture it as the hardware store it was when I was young, though I remember it being bigger. It was a nice stop, but I didn’t walk around town, didn’t visit Phil’s Deli or Drug Mart to get Ballreich chips to tote back to SC. Driving slowly down Harding Way at least allowed me to absorb the essence of home.

The next day the miles weren’t as many to visit my sister and some of her family. Our other sister traveled to be there, too, so The Girls spent a few hours together. It never takes long for the laughter to start, the family memories to manifest, and the fact checking with each other as details dim. A week back home is never long enough.                                                                                                                                                                        

 What is home to you?

Finally, good news from home, an update on Mark. He recently used a walker and, with stability folks at the ready, walked 60 ft. during therapy. That’s huge. His ‘paralyzed’ side didn’t drag, and in another photo his face is pure joy. Surgeons constructed a finger, two-fingers wide and with a joint/knuckle, on his damaged hand. With that and with what’s left of his thumb, he’s able to squeeze a person’s hand and to grasp things. He’s already learning how to grab a cup and drink from it. May we never doubt the power of prayer or family, or the belief in miracles.

No matter what you call home or who you call family, may this season of peace and light fill you with the sense of belonging.

I hope you have a good week! I’ll be back next Monday with musings from Bing to Brightman …