A month ago Astrid and I had the good fortune to drive across Holland's
eastern border into Germany's Münsterland, region of over 100 castles. This one happens to be Burg Hülshoff, one of the finest and where we spent most of our time.
That got me thinking about castles and how we say "my home is my castle." What exactly does that mean? Typically a castle is a fortified residence for a powerful or affluent person. It's usually private, not public, and is used to protect the owner. In some cases the castle is fortified, designed to defend a city or town, often in the middle of it.
Hold that thought.
A few days later, with visions of castles still in my head, I came to the day before the American Thanksgiving holiday and suddenly felt woefully depressed. It was like a bombshell. No other day in my first year in Holland had hit me that hard. I wanted to be home with my family. It was going to be my first Thanksgiving ever, in 65 years, away from family. And especially because Holland doesn't celebrate the holiday, I felt so lost.
Then I remembered the psychiatric hospital where I worked in 1969 the year Bill and I got married. I was the desk clerk on the ward for short-termers, average stay of 26 days. I soon discovered that the highest influx of new patients was always at this time of the year midst the hectic holiday season. When one lady in particular arrived, crazier than a loon, skipping through the halls in her stocking feet, giggling and having a good ol' time, the nurses laughed and said, "Oh, that's Professor So-and-So's wife. She comes here every year at this time until the holidays are over."
And that was 40 years ago!
Truth be told, I'm guessing many of us have or remember such frantic, depressive moments when the pressures of the season become more than we can handle. Most people see me as a very strong, stable, immovable, stalwart queen in my castle, my home. But in fact, that day I was nothing of the sort. Astrid was the only one who saw my depression before Thanksgiving and who, in the listening, eased my private pain. Within minutes, I was as good as new...and when Thanksgiving arrived the next day, I was as happy a camper as ever, not for one minute second-guessing where I was for the holidays.
Maybe that's the point of a castle. It's meant to shield us from the outside AND inside stresses of raging, emotional wars. It's meant to be the private place where we can unearth the weaknesses of our unarmored souls. It's meant to be a safe haven for everything we hold dear and important. It's meant to be our home where we can open our hearts wide and not fear the consequence.
Regrettably, not all homes are castles. That's the truth of it. But my wish for all of us this season is that we can find or start to build the castles around our homes to protect, fortify and defend all we hold sacrosanct. Maybe we can even help someone else build theirs? Our homes are worth it. So are our hearts.
That got me thinking about castles and how we say "my home is my castle." What exactly does that mean? Typically a castle is a fortified residence for a powerful or affluent person. It's usually private, not public, and is used to protect the owner. In some cases the castle is fortified, designed to defend a city or town, often in the middle of it.
Hold that thought.
A few days later, with visions of castles still in my head, I came to the day before the American Thanksgiving holiday and suddenly felt woefully depressed. It was like a bombshell. No other day in my first year in Holland had hit me that hard. I wanted to be home with my family. It was going to be my first Thanksgiving ever, in 65 years, away from family. And especially because Holland doesn't celebrate the holiday, I felt so lost.
Then I remembered the psychiatric hospital where I worked in 1969 the year Bill and I got married. I was the desk clerk on the ward for short-termers, average stay of 26 days. I soon discovered that the highest influx of new patients was always at this time of the year midst the hectic holiday season. When one lady in particular arrived, crazier than a loon, skipping through the halls in her stocking feet, giggling and having a good ol' time, the nurses laughed and said, "Oh, that's Professor So-and-So's wife. She comes here every year at this time until the holidays are over."
And that was 40 years ago!
Truth be told, I'm guessing many of us have or remember such frantic, depressive moments when the pressures of the season become more than we can handle. Most people see me as a very strong, stable, immovable, stalwart queen in my castle, my home. But in fact, that day I was nothing of the sort. Astrid was the only one who saw my depression before Thanksgiving and who, in the listening, eased my private pain. Within minutes, I was as good as new...and when Thanksgiving arrived the next day, I was as happy a camper as ever, not for one minute second-guessing where I was for the holidays.
Maybe that's the point of a castle. It's meant to shield us from the outside AND inside stresses of raging, emotional wars. It's meant to be the private place where we can unearth the weaknesses of our unarmored souls. It's meant to be a safe haven for everything we hold dear and important. It's meant to be our home where we can open our hearts wide and not fear the consequence.
Regrettably, not all homes are castles. That's the truth of it. But my wish for all of us this season is that we can find or start to build the castles around our homes to protect, fortify and defend all we hold sacrosanct. Maybe we can even help someone else build theirs? Our homes are worth it. So are our hearts.
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