contents - all

on being at home -
a reflection

thoughts and
word pieces -
in my own,
my chosen home


Home? Anywhere, as long as it's with my family.

Anywhere, except with my parents.

On the hockey rink with my team.

In my bedroom when it's raining, listening to the rain on the roof.

I hear songs I haven't heard for decades, songs my parents played, and I'm back with them.

Home? The smell of eggs frying in the morning.

Snow, the first snow of the season.

Darkness by the water.

Being with friends, that's what feels like home to me – just hanging out.

When do I feel at home? Alone – only when I'm alone.

Nothing has ever felt as much home as my first home – we lived there until my father died

Coming home, for me, was falling in love.

I walk into my office, and it's like a second family - often better than my family.

I have got to have a wide open view.

Nestled, with pine trees all around. A small house, small rooms.

It’s a small white attic room. As a child, it was my last bedroom. Now I paint in it. But even more, home is the river I grew up beside.

My back yard. Best time of all: late summer, early evening.

I’ve loved this province all my life – that's been kind of a home to me – but I never had a true home of my own. I was kind of a nomad. I never saw myself – me, myself – having a real home. Now. at almost sixty, this is the first time in my life.

It keeps changing. You know, you get married, you get divorced. Everything changes. And then changes again.

Home, for me, is anywhere, anywhere in the world where I can feel good – which is just about anywhere.

In my own
     my chosen home
         on a high plateau
         all alone
        yet cozy
          a nest
          and large
      inviting in each day
I’ve come to rest


            my father,
      Erwin Schieder

These are the central words of a piece I wrote while sitting with my father on the day of his death, after his death. It's the old dream of heaven (without clouds and wings and angel's things). Or maybe, even more, it's the equally old dream of heaven on earth. I think it was my father's deepest longing, to have a happy loving forever togetherness, a true home of the heart, but he didn't quite know how to make it real.


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chosen home on a high plateau - my home


At some point, if we’re lucky, we know we're at home. We choose to stay where' we were born – that's where we know we want to be. Or we move and settle elsewhere, sometimes in the same area, sometimes in a far-off part of the world – and find that's right for us.  Sometimes we do the choosing. Sometimes we know when we've come to the right spot – it's as if our home space has been waiting for us. If we're very lucky, we feel at home in many places, any place we happen to find ourselves.

            Home may be ever-changing.

            And what feels right at one time may not at another.

            Some people never find what feels like home.

But what does it mean: home, a chosen home, being at home, not being at home?    more


May 1, 2004

copyright © Elsa Schieder 2006
publishing house - FlufferDuff Impressions 2006


in my own, my chosen home

All around are the places we live in.
But what does it mean, to be at home?
My father never felt at home.
In my own, my chosen home -
explorations, reflections, word pieces
on the sense of home.

contact    your thoughts    what home means to you

in my own, my chosen home


To go to the word piece - in my own, my chosen home - click here.
It came to me as my own chosen home was starting to come together.

To go home - meaning to the opening page of this site - clilck here.

To go to the creativity blog, click here.
There's a lot on the development of elsas word story image idea music emporium,
which is both a chosen home and a home I have built myself.

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in my own, my chosen hoe


In My Own, My Chosen Home -
thoughts on the meaning of chosen home

Just what does it mean - chosen home? To what extent do we choose our home, and to what extent is our response to certain places built into us? I remember loving the low rolling hills east of Calgary years and years ago - I felt good there. Now I live on a high plateau, a wide open space with a view over miles and miles of fields and forests. Right now the trees are changing color, much like when I wrote the word piece that became the spark for this project - in my own, my chosen home. The view is not so different from the fields east of Calgary. It feels to me as if there is something about wide open spaces, yet with rolling hills, that evokes a feeling of home in me - chosen home.

I didn't choose where I was born - Vienna a few years after the end of the second world war. My parents were lucky to have a tiny home of their own - one small room all to themselves, with their own entrance to the world. The toilet was down the hall - it was for all the apartments (if apartments isn't too fancy a word for where they lived). But a home of their own - that was something for a young couple in postwar Vienna.

But did my sense of home start there - apparently there was a huge window, bringing in way too much heat in summer, but also loads of light, something I have often loved.

Chosen home - I think this name came to me also because I'm the child of immigrants. To some extent they chose to leave - with dreams of a promised land, a land flowing with adventure, like in the Westerns my father had loved since early childhood, and a land flowing with opportunities, as shown in the films my mother saw at the Canadian consulate. Eacgh of my parents chose to leave, lured by different possibilities, stirred by different dreams, hopes, fears. Yet for neither of them did Canada truly deeply become home - in some ways, one cannot choose to be at home. This was not, deep inside, their chosen home. My father had burned all bridges to a flourishing buisness - he would have had a hard time choosing to go back home, he would have had an emornously difficult time acknowledging that deep inside he longed for another home, did not feel fully at home.

I have chosen to stay. This is a choice - because in my generation masses of English-speaking people chose to leave, chose to make their home elsewhere where English was welcome, where there was no separatist movement.

To what extent, actually, is this my chosen home - and to what extent did I just never make the choice to leave? Did I really choose to stay, that is?

Now my partner and I are rooted in our home - our personal home. Our chosen home is also the closest large city - which was where we lived, home, for decades. To some extent Montreal will always feel like home. Out here in the country is my personal home space. But the city is home in another way - the stores, the streets, the parks, the restaurants, the people, downtown - and my work.

There is so much more on chosen home, but this is the beginning. In my own, my chosen home - thoughts, reflections, word pieces, music. My chosen home, and the chosen homes of many others.

October 1, 2006

copyright © Elsa Schieder 2006
publishing house - FlufferDuff Impressions 2006


contact    your thoughts    what home means to you

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home place, chosen home, home space, forever at home,
home is where the heart is, homeward bound, chosen home, my chosen home,
chosen home, no matter how humble there's no place like home, chosen home,
home home on the range where the deer and the antelope play, chosen home,
home - where my heart is waiting silently for me, falling into place,
outward bound, homeward bound, chosen home, o give me a home,
hearth, heartland, home cooking, home baking, home fries, chosen home,
home schooling, chosen home, home fooling, home and garden,
family, street, neighborhood, chosen home, countryside, familiar sights and sounds,
safety, security, comfort, a roof over my head, a place to put my bags down, a place to call my own,
the world is my home, the world is my oyster, born with a silver spoon in her mouth,
not a dime to her name, without two nickels to rub together, poor but happy, half starved to death,
homeless, roofless, rootless, uprooted, hungry, wretched, restless, wanderlust, leaving home,
wretched like a homeless child, the wretched of the earth, not a crust of bread, just the shirt on his back,
o give me a home, homing instinct, homey, homelike, home, chosen home,
my home my native land, homeland, mother tongue, father land, deep rooted,
chosen home, home place, homestead, homesteading, home ties,
chosen home, highrise, condo, apartment, house, split level, farm, barn, caravan,
farmyard, vegetable garden, flower beds, homeless animals, shelter, sheltering,
the sheltering sky, the sweltering sky, the far north, wide open spaces,
chosen home, the seasons, the world is my home, my home is the world, at home in,
at home in words, at home in ideas, at home among people, forever at home, never at home,
homeless and friendless, not a friend in the world, a friend in need is a friend indeed,
the luxury of choice, not feeling a home, out of place, o give me a home, my chosen home


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copyright © Elsa Schieder, 2006 - all rights reserved
copyright ©, 2006-2007 - all rights reserved
an all round creative space, creativity emporium and creativity match space

elsas word story image idea music