Jack Schiffer|dreamstime.com

While foraging in the social media forest I ventured into the Writer’s subgroup of Creative Designers and Writers on LinkedIn. I posted a link to Home, a Magical Place and asked a simple question. What is your memory of your childhood home? This simple question touched hearts around the world.

From the UK Gail Jones feels the discomfort of the tin bath in front of the living room fireplace. “If you touched the side facing the fire you burnt your arm. If you touched the other side you froze.”

From Singapore  JSawlm Teh sees the colorful the throngs in Malaysia who passed through the row of terrace houses and shops on MacClister Road. Some balanced platters of sweets on their heads to sell to the nonyas and babas.

Panchatapa Goswami still has scary dreams about a compound of six big rooms in a row on top of hill surrounded by a jungle teeming with wolves and foxes. Scott Miller smells his mother’s stew on the stove and thinks he is overdue for a visit home.  Sarah Orden speculates that home isn’t a place; it’s a compilation of memories and hopes, of scents and feelings of security.

Childhood memories stir up sadness and fear, tenderness and joy. A tossed salad of experiences, Diane M. Ciarloni says. Recalling them gives us a way to weave unpleasant experiences into better ones through the shadows of time.

As the discussion builds, I get email alerts. They are like postcards from all over the world. Diane says reading these comments can bring a smile or a laugh in the middle of a gosh-awful day.

I’m glad we had this conversation.