As a child (and truth be told, still as a grown woman) my favorite movie of all time was The Wizard of Oz. I watched it SO. OFTEN. that several members of my family had to hide their copies, telling me that the VHS was “broken” from too much use. Seriously guys, that was mean.
I love the whole thing: Auntie Em and Uncle Henry’s modest farm, Dorothy’s spunky youth, and the glorious, extravagant, so so wonderful land of Oz. I used to dream about Oz. Scarecrow is my favorite, and to this day, those damn monkeys still terrify me. THEN when Wicked: The Life and Times of the Wicked Witch of the West came out (first the book and THEN the beloved musical – seriously, let’s talk about Idina Menzel for a minute here. Does anyone even realize she was workin’ it WAY before she was Elsa?), the incredible back story of the friendship between Elphaba and Galinda drew myself and millions of others back in to the magical story of Oz.
I think my favorite part of the entire movie, though, is Dorothy’s realization that she had the power to go home all along. Her return to black and white, to the simple life on the farm. Dororthy’s return to home.
I felt a little like Dorothy last week, going back to my roots. The joy she feels being back home is palpable, and I felt a little of that, too. There’s nothing like spending time in the home you grew up in, visiting Gramma’s to help in her garden and listening to Grampa’s stories of the mischief of the good ol’ days, looking through my baby photo albums and digging up all my old collections – porcelain dolls and snowglobes, mostly. I’m a sentimental fool, and the moments spent at home reminiscing and pretending I don’t have all the responsibilities of being an adult, even if just for a few days, is refreshing and rejuvenating.
Dorothy didn’t always get it right (that girl was not small and meek, c’mon). When it came to sentiments on home, though, she knew her stuff.
Because truly, there is no place like home.