Elise Myers

What does “Home” mean? Is Home a place?

Where is your Home?

To me, Home is a feeling.

A feel­ing that I finally found on a muggy sum­mer evening inside an over­crowded Cana­dian bar in Mid­town Man­hat­tan. And now, that feel­ing, my Home, is some­thing I carry with me, no mat­ter where I am.

And since I am a sto­ry­teller, I wrote about it.

But now, in this awk­ward stretch of time between Canada Day and Amer­i­can Inde­pen­dence Day, I again find myself with one foot on each side of the bor­der, in a search for iden­tity and mean­ing in cel­e­bra­tion and self.

Read on, reader, read on.

…I hes­i­tated out­side as the damp warm air clung to me. Dar­ing myself to go in. The scar­let Maple Leaf danced in the breeze, gre­gar­i­ously beck­on­ing me within. Mak­ing me Promises. Promises not made by a dimly lit room with sticky beer floors. Promises not made by men and women who think you’re beau­ti­ful tonight but leave in the morning.

Real Promises. Of Home.

I paused. This was it. I had found it. I made one final eager adjust­ment to my Toronto Blue Jays hat and sheep­ishly saun­tered in. Dream­ing of that Promise of Home.

The Chef smiled at me from behind the bar, wel­com­ing me in like an old friend. He offered me things like Pou­tine and Beaver Tail and Labatt Blue and Mol­son and Cae­sar. Things that sounded beau­ti­ful and ele­gant and for­eign. And were nonethe­less Cana­dian; gifts from His Home.

Read more on my Word­Press blog here!