Home is where my heart is

Home is where my heart is

I’ve been asking myself: When does a house become a home? – Well, I found the answer in an old folk song (probably from the Natives of North America, but I never verified it):

I’ve been travelling a day,
I’ve been travelling a year,
I’ve been travelling a lifetime,
to find my way home.

Home, is where my heart is
Home, is where my heart is
Home, is where my heart is,
My heart is my home.

My heart IS my home, but since I put so much of my heart into my little house, it is now also part of my home. My home also includes people I call family and dear friends, so I’ll probably never be truly homeless, but since I moved in, I do feel like I’ve come home. Being in my tiny house feels like a warm hug by a loved one. Not perfect by outside standards, but perfect in my eyes, including all its imperfections. read more

bad hair day?

Haare mit Stärke

For a long time now I wasn’t very happy with the fact that I could find shampoo only in plastic bottles and mostly filled with who knows what exactly. This got me started in looking for alternatives. How did the people wash their hair back in the day when there was no shampoo from the supermarket/factory?

I saw a short report on TV a few years back, where there was a guy cleaning his hair by “rolling around in the dirt” like his donkey did. I was kind of confused how that would actually CLEAN the hair, but didn’t pay any more attention to it. read more