Home Sweet Home By Louise Applebome

By Louise Applebome

For so many years, as a little girl, I looked forward to the annual television airing of The Wizard of Oz.

How special was an annual-only event? Today, there’s no such thing. Everything is available in any manner of delivery systems, 24/7. 

But back in the 50s & 60s, there was a black and white television set with only a handful of channels. I’d often gather with my next-door neighbors to watch, year after year, Dorothy Gale’s harrowing, horrific, and heartfelt adventures. And after tornadoes, witches, flying monkeys, and munchkins, Dorothy learned the secret to releasing and applying the magic and miracle of the ruby slippers she was wearing. And, in fact, as Glinda, the good witch of the North, informed her, the miracle and magic lived within her always and were just waiting for their potency to be unlocked.

Once Dorothy understood and truly cherished that “there’s no place like home,” she was free to leave Oz and return to the family farm in Kansas.

I was always moved, I was always touched, but the depth of a young girl’s emotions is limited. But today, at age 71, I’ve finally grown to internalize Dorothy’s eventual revelation. It took her the full length of the Frank Baum book and MGM movie to conclude that “there’s no place like home.” And it’s taken me decades to value the message Dorothy conveyed all those years ago.

In fact, I have often put The Wizard of Oz up there as one of my all-time favorite movies. I’ve certainly seen it more times than any other. I even saw it on the big screen when it was making the rounds for its 50th anniversary in 1989. I was absolutely giddy. I was able to see things never before apparent on a little television screen. So I have felt a strong affinity to the film throughout my lifetime.

So how apt that I often remind myself that “there’s no place like home.” And sometimes “home” is the place where I live. I’m lucky my house isn’t governed by a Home Owners’ Association because I take artistic license with my landscaping outdoors. And indoors includes a somewhat nontraditional set-up in which the original living/dining area has been converted into a yoga studio. 

The interior courtyard is sublime. Simple, soft, and serene. I live alone, and the house is designed with that in mind. A bit idiosyncratic? Perhaps.

The space reflects and enhances me. 

“There’s no place like home.”

I’m not that interested in traveling because home is where I belong. 

But then there’s the metaphorical “home.” It need not be a physical place. It’s about rootedness, equanimity, and the delight of being in one’s own skin. It doesn’t have to be tied to a brick-and-mortar structure. It resides within. The key is learning that we can tap into that ease of being whenever and wherever we are.

I certainly didn’t appreciate the physical “home” or, more esoteric, metaphorical home as a young viewer of The Wizard of Oz. Nor did I appreciate them during my teen years or even as a young adult. But one of the great benefits of aging is the accumulation and assimilation of experiences and knowledge that inform and define “home” for each of us. 

It’s different for everyone. Unbeknownst to me, lo those many years ago, those annual viewings of The Wizard of Oz were planting a subliminal and perennial truth about finding the essence of a life worth living and about figuring out how to create a foundation for a home, no further away than one’s own backyard, metaphorically and actually…where joy, wonder, awe and ongoing discovery can take place.

The question about feeling rooted and comfortable and “at home” in this lifetime also hit home recently with the death of two friends. We’re all on this earth for a finite stretch of time. And we’re human. Ergo, we’re far from perfect. We make mistakes. And then it’s incumbent upon each of us to be repentant, to make amends, and to commit to trying to do better the next time. But we’ll continue to err. And we’ll continue to be wronged. We’re sentient beings. And so much of proceeding morally, kindly, and compassionately through life is predicated on self-love. I know, it sounds a bit like pop psychology and a bit trite. But “self-love” and “home” are symbiotic. It’s the self-love that allows us to accept our own shortcomings and foibles, and which is essential if we’re to accept those of others. 

So, innocent little Dorothy was also communicating that message to us in her dogged pursuit to return to a home with a foundation that offered her the love, support, and acceptance that she so longed for. In her case, that comprised Aunt Em, Uncle Henry, farmhands Hunk, Hickory, and Zeke.

 “Home” and how that manifests for each of us will include our own version of Aunt Em et al.

Maybe it’s loved ones.

Maybe it comes from giving to others. 

Maybe it’s a place(s) in the world.

Maybe it’s through travel.

Or it could be interests, hobbies, art, culture, books, food, exercise, or religion.

Maybe it’s all of the above. 

Home’s definitions and parameters are endless. 

Home is where the hearth and the heart is…existentially speaking. 

Namasté 

Louise Applebome, 71, is a Certified Yoga Instructor in Dallas. After “retiring” from a vibrant and varied professional career, she became a yoga teacher. She teaches all her classes on Zoom right now and accepts students, young or older, from wherever they are, both geographically and in their pursuit of a yoga practice. Louise will help you stay fit and flexible, and release tension, aches & pains from the body…and the mind. Her yoga studio in Dallas is del norte yoga. You can reach out to her at [email protected].