{"id":1539,"date":"2013-03-11T13:53:26","date_gmt":"2013-03-11T12:53:26","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/omily.me\/?p=1539"},"modified":"2013-03-11T14:55:14","modified_gmt":"2013-03-11T13:55:14","slug":"home","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/omily.me\/en\/home\/","title":{"rendered":"Home"},"content":{"rendered":"<p>Home. Home is at my grandparents. The one place that was always the same, no matter how many times we moved. The place where so many childhood memories still linger. I can almost see us. My sister, brother and me, running around.<\/p>\n<div>\n<div><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"aligncenter size-medium wp-image-1541\" alt=\"Omaomi\" src=\"http:\/\/omily.me\/wp-content\/uploads\/2013\/03\/Copy-2-of-Copy-of-scan0003-300x199.jpg\" width=\"300\" height=\"199\" srcset=\"https:\/\/omily.me\/wp-content\/uploads\/2013\/03\/Copy-2-of-Copy-of-scan0003-300x199.jpg 300w, https:\/\/omily.me\/wp-content\/uploads\/2013\/03\/Copy-2-of-Copy-of-scan0003-150x99.jpg 150w, https:\/\/omily.me\/wp-content\/uploads\/2013\/03\/Copy-2-of-Copy-of-scan0003-400x265.jpg 400w, https:\/\/omily.me\/wp-content\/uploads\/2013\/03\/Copy-2-of-Copy-of-scan0003.jpg 716w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 300px) 100vw, 300px\" \/><\/div>\n<\/div>\n<p>But then they moved. I was 18. But I still needed my childhood refuge!<\/p>\n<div><\/div>\n<p>Home. Is us. our jolly family of 7. Us 3 oldest ones talking to loud, mom thumping a broomstick on their bedroom door to shut us up.my sister climbing on our bunkbed with her cup of tea when i wanted to sleep, me grumbling but loving it. Sitting for hours at the table, drinking coffee and talking, laughing, having heated discussions with little children running and climbing around us.<\/p>\n<div><\/div>\n<p>Home is the dirty old pond on the farm in the west flanders. The creek and the pantry in minnesota. The living room in North Carolina and the rope swing on the tree in the old house where Loorke was born and where Seppe died, our dear little goat that we bottle fed because his mama had died soon after she had him.<\/p>\n<div><a href=\"http:\/\/omily.me\/wp-content\/uploads\/2013\/03\/2013-03-11-08.32.43.jpg\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"aligncenter size-medium wp-image-1543\" alt=\"omiloesje\" src=\"http:\/\/omily.me\/wp-content\/uploads\/2013\/03\/P1000512-300x224.jpg\" width=\"300\" height=\"224\" srcset=\"https:\/\/omily.me\/wp-content\/uploads\/2013\/03\/P1000512-300x224.jpg 300w, https:\/\/omily.me\/wp-content\/uploads\/2013\/03\/P1000512-150x112.jpg 150w, https:\/\/omily.me\/wp-content\/uploads\/2013\/03\/P1000512-400x299.jpg 400w, https:\/\/omily.me\/wp-content\/uploads\/2013\/03\/P1000512.jpg 495w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 300px) 100vw, 300px\" \/><\/a><\/div>\n<p>We moved grew up, got married. But home is in our hearts, home is when we get together around the table once more, home is when we will be together in heaven and all my longing for bits and pieces of people and places and times that I loved and now miss so, will be reunited and fulfilled because together we will see His face and praise Him for eternity.<\/p>\n<div><\/div>\n<p>I image sometimes we will be chasing little white goats in green meadows there.<\/p>\n<p style=\"text-align: center;\"><a href=\"http:\/\/omily.me\/wp-content\/uploads\/2013\/03\/2013-03-11-08.32.43.jpg\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-medium wp-image-1540 aligncenter\" alt=\"Seppe\" src=\"http:\/\/omily.me\/wp-content\/uploads\/2013\/03\/2013-03-11-08.32.43-e1363005713335-300x225.jpg\" width=\"300\" height=\"225\" srcset=\"https:\/\/omily.me\/wp-content\/uploads\/2013\/03\/2013-03-11-08.32.43-e1363005713335-300x225.jpg 300w, https:\/\/omily.me\/wp-content\/uploads\/2013\/03\/2013-03-11-08.32.43-e1363005713335-1024x768.jpg 1024w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 300px) 100vw, 300px\" \/><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-medium wp-image-1544 alignnone\" alt=\"omiseppe\" src=\"http:\/\/omily.me\/wp-content\/uploads\/2013\/03\/P1000513-300x224.jpg\" width=\"300\" height=\"224\" srcset=\"https:\/\/omily.me\/wp-content\/uploads\/2013\/03\/P1000513-300x224.jpg 300w, https:\/\/omily.me\/wp-content\/uploads\/2013\/03\/P1000513-150x112.jpg 150w, https:\/\/omily.me\/wp-content\/uploads\/2013\/03\/P1000513-400x299.jpg 400w, https:\/\/omily.me\/wp-content\/uploads\/2013\/03\/P1000513.jpg 495w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 300px) 100vw, 300px\" \/><br \/>\n<\/a><\/p>\n<p>linking up with www.lisajobaker.com for five minute friday:<\/p>\n<p><a href=\"http:\/\/lisajobaker.com\/2013\/03\/five-minute-friday-home-2\/\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"aligncenter size-full wp-image-1453\" alt=\"5-minute-friday-1\" src=\"http:\/\/omily.me\/wp-content\/uploads\/2013\/03\/5-minute-friday-1.jpg\" width=\"199\" height=\"200\" srcset=\"https:\/\/omily.me\/wp-content\/uploads\/2013\/03\/5-minute-friday-1.jpg 199w, https:\/\/omily.me\/wp-content\/uploads\/2013\/03\/5-minute-friday-1-150x150.jpg 150w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 199px) 100vw, 199px\" \/><\/a><\/p>","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>Home. Home is at my grandparents. The one place that was always the same, no matter how many times we moved. The place where so many childhood memories still linger. I can almost see us. My sister, brother and me, running around.<\/p>\n<p>But then they moved. I was 18. But I still needed my childhood refuge!<\/p>\n<p>Home. Is us. our jolly family of 7. Us 3 oldest ones talking to loud, mom thumping a broomstick on their bedroom door to shut us up.my sister climbing on our bunkbed with her cup of tea when i wanted to sleep, me grumbling but loving it. Sitting for hours at the table, drinking coffee and talking, laughing, having heated discussions with little children running and climbing around us.<\/p>\n<p>Home is the dirty old pond on the farm in the west flanders. The creek and the pantry in minnesota. The living room in North Carolina and the rope swing on the tree in the old house where Loorke was born and where Seppe died, our dear little goat that we bottle fed because his mama had died soon after she had him.<\/p>\n<p>We moved grew up, got married. But home is in our hearts, <a href=\"https:\/\/omily.me\/en\/home\/\">[&#8230;]<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":3,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[7],"tags":[100,104,99,102,103,101],"yoast_head":"<!-- This site is optimized with the Yoast SEO plugin v22.9 - https:\/\/yoast.com\/wordpress\/plugins\/seo\/ -->\n<title>Home Thuis - Omily<\/title>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"noindex, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"Home Thuis - Omily\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:description\" content=\"Home. Home is at my grandparents. The one place that was always the same, no matter how many times we moved. The place where so many childhood memories still linger. I can almost see us. My sister, brother and me, running around. But then they moved. I was 18. But I still needed my childhood refuge! Home. Is us. our jolly family of 7. Us 3 oldest ones talking to loud, mom thumping a broomstick on their bedroom door to shut us up.my sister climbing on our bunkbed with her cup of tea when i wanted to sleep, me grumbling but loving it. Sitting for hours at the table, drinking coffee and talking, laughing, having heated discussions with little children running and climbing around us. Home is the dirty old pond on the farm in the west flanders. The creek and the pantry in minnesota. The living room in North Carolina and the rope swing on the tree in the old house where Loorke was born and where Seppe died, our dear little goat that we bottle fed because his mama had died soon after she had him. We moved grew up, got married. But home is in our hearts, [...]\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:url\" content=\"https:\/\/omily.me\/home\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:site_name\" content=\"Omily\" \/>\n<meta property=\"article:published_time\" content=\"2013-03-11T12:53:26+00:00\" \/>\n<meta property=\"article:modified_time\" content=\"2013-03-11T13:55:14+00:00\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:image\" content=\"http:\/\/omily.me\/wp-content\/uploads\/2013\/03\/Copy-2-of-Copy-of-scan0003-300x199.jpg\" \/>\n<meta name=\"author\" content=\"Omily Brignola\" \/>\n<meta name=\"twitter:card\" content=\"summary_large_image\" \/>\n<meta name=\"twitter:creator\" content=\"@omilybrignola\" \/>\n<meta name=\"twitter:site\" content=\"@omilybrignola\" \/>\n<meta name=\"twitter:label1\" content=\"Written by\" \/>\n\t<meta name=\"twitter:data1\" content=\"Omily Brignola\" \/>\n\t<meta name=\"twitter:label2\" content=\"Est. reading time\" \/>\n\t<meta name=\"twitter:data2\" content=\"3 minutes\" \/>\n<script type=\"application\/ld+json\" class=\"yoast-schema-graph\">{\"@context\":\"https:\/\/schema.org\",\"@graph\":[{\"@type\":\"WebPage\",\"@id\":\"https:\/\/omily.me\/home\/\",\"url\":\"https:\/\/omily.me\/home\/\",\"name\":\"Home Thuis - Omily\",\"isPartOf\":{\"@id\":\"https:\/\/omily.me\/#website\"},\"primaryImageOfPage\":{\"@id\":\"https:\/\/omily.me\/home\/#primaryimage\"},\"image\":{\"@id\":\"https:\/\/omily.me\/home\/#primaryimage\"},\"thumbnailUrl\":\"http:\/\/omily.me\/wp-content\/uploads\/2013\/03\/Copy-2-of-Copy-of-scan0003-300x199.jpg\",\"datePublished\":\"2013-03-11T12:53:26+00:00\",\"dateModified\":\"2013-03-11T13:55:14+00:00\",\"author\":{\"@id\":\"https:\/\/omily.me\/#\/schema\/person\/62611e7463b683659fa29ef3a82729ad\"},\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\",\"potentialAction\":[{\"@type\":\"ReadAction\",\"target\":[\"https:\/\/omily.me\/home\/\"]}]},{\"@type\":\"ImageObject\",\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\",\"@id\":\"https:\/\/omily.me\/home\/#primaryimage\",\"url\":\"http:\/\/omily.me\/wp-content\/uploads\/2013\/03\/Copy-2-of-Copy-of-scan0003-300x199.jpg\",\"contentUrl\":\"http:\/\/omily.me\/wp-content\/uploads\/2013\/03\/Copy-2-of-Copy-of-scan0003-300x199.jpg\"},{\"@type\":\"WebSite\",\"@id\":\"https:\/\/omily.me\/#website\",\"url\":\"https:\/\/omily.me\/\",\"name\":\"Omily\",\"description\":\"\",\"potentialAction\":[{\"@type\":\"SearchAction\",\"target\":{\"@type\":\"EntryPoint\",\"urlTemplate\":\"https:\/\/omily.me\/?s={search_term_string}\"},\"query-input\":\"required name=search_term_string\"}],\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\"},{\"@type\":\"Person\",\"@id\":\"https:\/\/omily.me\/#\/schema\/person\/62611e7463b683659fa29ef3a82729ad\",\"name\":\"Omily Brignola\",\"image\":{\"@type\":\"ImageObject\",\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\",\"@id\":\"https:\/\/omily.me\/#\/schema\/person\/image\/\",\"url\":\"https:\/\/secure.gravatar.com\/avatar\/1987338c3a4230f50609ee9548b9f636?s=96&d=mm&r=g\",\"contentUrl\":\"https:\/\/secure.gravatar.com\/avatar\/1987338c3a4230f50609ee9548b9f636?s=96&d=mm&r=g\",\"caption\":\"Omily Brignola\"},\"sameAs\":[\"http:\/\/www.omily.me\"],\"url\":\"https:\/\/omily.me\/en\/author\/omily\/\"}]}<\/script>\n<!-- \/ Yoast SEO plugin. -->","yoast_head_json":{"title":"Home Thuis - Omily","robots":{"index":"noindex","follow":"follow","max-snippet":"max-snippet:-1","max-image-preview":"max-image-preview:large","max-video-preview":"max-video-preview:-1"},"og_locale":"en_US","og_type":"article","og_title":"Home Thuis - Omily","og_description":"Home. Home is at my grandparents. The one place that was always the same, no matter how many times we moved. The place where so many childhood memories still linger. I can almost see us. My sister, brother and me, running around. But then they moved. I was 18. But I still needed my childhood refuge! Home. Is us. our jolly family of 7. Us 3 oldest ones talking to loud, mom thumping a broomstick on their bedroom door to shut us up.my sister climbing on our bunkbed with her cup of tea when i wanted to sleep, me grumbling but loving it. Sitting for hours at the table, drinking coffee and talking, laughing, having heated discussions with little children running and climbing around us. Home is the dirty old pond on the farm in the west flanders. The creek and the pantry in minnesota. The living room in North Carolina and the rope swing on the tree in the old house where Loorke was born and where Seppe died, our dear little goat that we bottle fed because his mama had died soon after she had him. 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