It’s a shame I’m not writing much, but that’s life.  The other day, while strolling through Pinterest, I came across a quote that makes so much sense to me.  It says, “It’s like I’m homesick for a place that doesn’t exist.”  The source is a site called

I felt as though I’d walked into a tree.  Out loud, I cried, “Yes!  That’s exactly it!”  Then as the euphoria faded, I began to wonder what, if anything, this says about me.  I decided to take a positive stance.  Now I’ve always been an active and imaginative thinker.  Despite eschewing all arts and crafts activities as a younger person, I have accepted that I am indeed a creative individual.  And this quote makes so much sense to me because in my head I’ve created infinite settings and scenarios for my life.

Yes, I can point out that Nick Carraway tells Jay Gatsby that he can never “go back” because things are never they way you remember them, but I’ve always envisioned being somewhere else.  Or I project where I will be.  As summer fades, I leave the beach house in my mind and start to contemplate the English cottage in the country where I walk lonely lanes comforted by the scent of wood smoke.  The turning leaves color the landscape as Nature prepares to bed down for the winter.

I seem to want to remain in the cottage for the winter, a cheerful fire blazing as I bake a myriad of items that I expertly wrap and give away to friends.  Naturally the surrounding area allows me to cross country ski or snowshoe whenever the spirit moves me.  And I always return to the cottage where a fragrant pot of nourishing soup awaits along with slices of freshly baked bread.  This scene cannot be complete without a refreshing glass of wine.  I haven’t the faintest idea of the geographical location of my cottage and though I am preparing baked goodies for loads of friends, there are no other dwellings in sight.

And I would also like to mention:  1) years of physical activity and being overweight have rendered my knees fairly incapable of repetitive exercise like walking and cross country skiing (at least without icing them and gobbling Tylenol like Tic-Tacs); 2) I don’t like soup; 3) wine makes me ill; 4) I’m deathly afraid of fire; 5) I don’t have loads of friends.

However, when spring comes along I’m out tending my many gardens where perennials, herbs and vegetables flourish.  Again, I share my bounty with all of those non-existent friends.  And yes, I worked many years in a garden center and learned a great deal about gardening and lawn maintenance but I’ve lost my desire to garden.  Don’t forget the weight gain, bad knees and the fact that I abhor most flying insects.

So, yeah, I get it.  I am homesick for a place that doesn’t exist.  I’m going to blame my fantasies on the fact that I read too much.  Have I talked yet about how sad it is that people don’t enjoy reading anymore?  A topic for another day while sitting by the fire, nursing a huge mug (hand-thrown in the backyard pottery shed) of steaming tea (only drink it when I’m ill), and munching on molasses cookies fresh from the oven.  Until then…I will continue to enjoy my cottage.

About thequarryschild

A self-described forensic junkie, Beth Anderson spends her days shaping young minds to ask critical questions and wonder “whodunit.” Beth resides in the Capital District of New York and spends her free time reading and solving the great mysteries. Her love of swimming, tennis and sports provides the basis for one of the lead characters in her new book The Quarry’s Child. Beth is one of the founding members of the Upper Hudson Valley Chapter of Sisters in Crime (aka Mavens of Mayhem), a graduate of the FBI Citizens Academy, a survivor of a visit to an active aircraft carrier while it was at sea, and a published poet in Soundings, a literary journal. Beth continues to instill a love for mystery fiction in her students as she has for over twenty years. Photo credit: Quinn Mulvey
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