Home is not just the place where you happen to be born. It is the place where you become yourself. ~Pico Iyer.

Is one’s homeland the country where s/he was born or the country where s/he was raised?  Does it matter?  That was the question my colleague posed to her class. To me they are one in the same since I was born and raised in the United States.

If I think back to my grandparents who were immigrants I would have to say in some/many ways they may have longed for their “homeland” the country of their births – Poland and Italy.

My grandmom Ferrante probably was the clearest on what her feelings were on homeland.  She came from Italy and met my grandfather when she was just 15.  They married when she was 17 ½ , had nine children, and built successful businesses – an ice business, then coal, and finally an oil delivery company.  My grandfather often returned to Italy to “show off” his good fortune or fruits of his hard labor to his family and friends “back home”. He wanted to retire and go back and live in Italy permanently. Grandmom, however, had a much different idea.  She told him, “You made your money here. You will spend your money here.” She was not going back and leaving her nine children and ever growing gaggle of grandchildren.  She was home.

What do you think?  What is your homeland?

                      #SOL17

Embrace each challenge as an opportunity for self-transformation. ~Bernie S. Siegel

Week one on a walker – I really have turned into my mother!

When the voice on the other end of the phone told me I would have to use a walker for at least a month, I cried.  I cried for the uncertainty that would not be resolved until I got to see the doctor two days from then.  Then I began to feel ridiculous because I knew this would only be a temporary situation that I was blowing out of proportion.  Yet I know I have a right to feel how I feel.

I have learned that I need to depend on others and ask for help.  That is not my strong suit.  I realize that needing help does not make you weak, but it does force you to open up and show your vulnerability. I am grateful that I have an understanding principal and colleagues who would do anything for me.

Being on a walker makes everyday tasks a chore.  Things I have taken for granted are now difficult.  My bathroom doors are now not wide enough.  I must shimmy the walker in sideways.

Getting my fluffy terry cloth bathrobe back on the hook in the bathroom requires me hang it “just right” over the front of the walker, so that I don’t trip over and cause more damage to my pelvic fracture.  Sleeping is now a challenge because I like to sleep on my right side which at the moment is impossible, so I spend most of my night trying to get comfortable on my back or on my left side.  Certain movements cause pains that wake me from the little time I do sleep. Chronic pain and chronic fatigue could be a recipe for disaster.  But I am trying to take a page from my mother, and grin and bear it. She has had arthritis since she was in her 50s, and now she is 89.  Mom never complains; she is happy everyday.  I’ll keep you posted!