my aunt helen [an american] and my uncle alan [a brit] have been married for almost six years, and have maintained a long-distance relationship in their respective countries, across the pond, for even longer. last december, my aunt finally made the official move to alan's side of the pond, to haselmere, surrey.
after two non-stop days in london, kasi and i spent the weekend at alan's [now, helen and alan's]. we finally met most of alan's side of the family, and enjoyed an early supper on sunday [melt-in-your-mouth five-hour lamb, and excellent conversation included].
my aunt has a way of making any place she lives in feel like home. recently, i've come across a lot of different ideas and questions about what home means to most people, and have found myself in an interesting situation as i struggle to define it. something about the way my aunt haphazardly* prepares a meal; the traditions she never forgets and can't wait to introduce to and share with others; the old** family furniture i remember so well from childhood; or the crackling of a fire, which remains a staple in every home that my aunt lives in***.
somehow on this day, at this particular supper, surrounded by new people i had only just met, she did it--she made me feel at home.
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* helen, if you're reading this, i hope you're not offended;)
** a lot of our vintage family furniture can be found just for show or sentimental value, and not for actual usage [ie: they're broken, missing a chair leg, etc.]
*** helen deemed kasi the one person officially in charge of tending to the fire, which is common in family gatherings for us. someone always gets put in charge of starting and keeping the fire going, and it's usually the newest [or youngest] person there.
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