Pam Ford Davis

As a writer, I sometimes see or hear something and feel compelled to turn the truths into personal testimony. A painter wants to capture those emotions with brush and canvas; I turn to my computer keyboard and let my fingers paint the picture. Simple phrases or song titles are key ingredients for an article and I can hardly wait to stir them up.

An inspired writer shared that Home is where the heart is. A sentimentalist believed Wherever you hang your hat is home. We visualize a dad hanging his hat up as he enters the house after a hard day’s work. We can never escape the cries of fearful Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz. She tearfully said, “There’s no place like home.”

Oh, There’s No Place Like Home For the Holidays.  Perry Como’s rendition still wrings my heart each Christmas and I know I am not alone. We remember the old houses where we grew up, family, friends and the fun times we shared. Years and miles cannot separate us from home; they only serve to tighten the bonds.

“Home is always home.” A cousin penned this perception on my Christmas card and I instantly wowed! She is also a writer and we grew up in very small neighborhoods only a few miles apart. Both of us no longer live in those nestled areas; New York State is now only a state of mind. I will not plagiarize her statement; instead, I say, “Martha, you don’t know how right you are!”