Skip to main content

The Language of Home: Building a Sanctuary

This episode is for anyone trying to find their footing in a new place—whether it’s a new city, a new job, or a new country.

The light in Florence, Italy, has a way of making everything feel like a Renaissance painting—the golden hue on the stone, the steady rhythm of the Arno River, and the feeling that you are walking through a history much larger than yourself.

I was there to give a presentation to a class of Gemology students (April 2008). I was prepared to discuss color grading and refractive indices, but not to be outed as a language tutor. Feeling very much like a guest in a storied land, a hand shot up enthusiastically.

"You’re the guy on the podcasts," the young woman said, her eyes bright with recognition. "You’re the one teaching us English."

I laughed nervously. If you know my flat Midwestern accent, you know the irony here. I am hardly an Oxford professor. But later, as I wandered the cobblestone streets beneath the shadow of the Duomo, the humor faded into a powerful realization.

I understood I was doing for her what my mother, Mauricette, had to do for herself nearly seventy years ago.

In 1959, my mother, Mauricette Elaine Ball, stepped off a plane from La Rochelle, France, and landed in the middle of the American Midwest. She was barely in her mid-twenties. She traded the Atlantic Ocean for cornfields, and the history of Europe for a town where the biggest landmark was the hardware store.

She didn't just leave her geography behind; she left her native tongue. She came to Cuba, Illinois, where the locals affectionately called her "Doc Ball’s French lady".

She could have let the "foreignness" of the Midwest keep her on the outside. Instead, she chose resilience. While she was struggling to learn English verbs, she was already fluent in the language of a made bed, a clean house, and a hot meal waiting on the stove.

She taught me that home isn't just a place you go; it's a language you speak.

Building Your Own Vocabulary of Comfort

I know many of you reading and listening to this are far from where you started. Maybe you are learning English right now, using my voice to practice your pronunciation (my apologies to your grammar teachers). Maybe you are a student in a new city, trying to decipher the noise of the modern world.

If you feel like a stranger in a strange land, here is my advice: Don't wait to become fluent before building your sanctuary.

  1. Find Your Rhythm: My mother found hers in the daily tasks of caring for her family—starting her day at 5:30 a.m. to ensure our house was a place of comfort. Create a routine that feels familiar, even if the world outside is strange.
  2. Listen for the Music: Growing up, I loved the musical rhythm of my French family's voices, even when I couldn't understand every word. Look for the people in your life who speak with kindness. Listen to their heart, not just their words.
  3. Be the Bridge: My mother became a beloved part of her community by giving of herself—whether working at the local orchard or giving perms to her sisters-in-law in our kitchen. You don't have to be from a place to belong to it.

To My Global Neighbors

I've been fortunate to spend a lifetime exploring this beautiful world. I've walked through the vibrant energy of Vietnam and India and stood beneath the modern skylines of Dubai and Singapore. I’ve experienced the quiet majesty of Switzerland and the resilience of South Africa. From Hong Kong, Korea, Thailand, and Burma to all 50 U.S. states . . .

And do you know what I found?

It didn’t matter if I was in Florence or Peoria. We are all trying to learn the same thing. We are all trying to learn how to be human. We are all trying to figure out how to stay hopeful in a very complicated world.

So, whether you are listening in a high-rise in Hong Kong, a quiet room in Aliso Viejo, or right back in Central Illinois—keep listening. Keep reading.

And remember: You are building your own "Cuba" right where you stand.

This is On the Fly. If this tribute to my Mom touched your heart, share it with a neighbor. It could be a friend across the ocean or someone standing next to you in line. Let’s keep the conversation going and work toward building a world where everyone feels they belong.


I’m Patrick Ball. Stay curious, ask questions, and keep speaking.

We've moved! Join me over at On the Fly on Substack for my latest writing. 

Comments

Most Popular of All Time

Back to School (Without the Triple Lindy)

I hadn’t set foot inside a public library in over thirty years. Last Saturday, when I walked through the sliding doors of the modern County of San Diego branch on Eucalyptus Avenue in Vista, my eyes instinctively scanned the floor for the familiar, comforting sight of varnished oak cabinets and brass pull-handles. Nothing . No card catalog. No little wooden drawers. No rows of index cards typed by someone who presumably had beautiful penmanship and a pension. I walked up to the front desk, looked the librarian dead in the eye, and asked with complete earnestness: "Where’s the card catalog?" She didn’t laugh, though she had every right to. Instead, she offered a warm, dry smile: "We magically had the computer digest it." And just like that, I was enrolled. Not the Rodney Dangerfield kind of back-to-school. No diving board, no loud blazer, no campus party, and thankfully, no need to convince anyone I belonged there. Just an overdue reminder that while I was busy with ...

Beyond Facts-The Deep Dive

✨ In this episode, Beyond Facts: Reimagining School–in the Age of AI . . .   This week's podcast is a bit different; it's another example of how Artificial Intelligence (AI) can offer tools to creatively enhance your analytical presentation of information. We took this week's blog and copied it into Gemini with the question, “If a story is to work, it must, on some level, create an illusion of escape and also achieve a goal simultaneously. Does this apply to my blog post that follows?” What's created is not just an analysis of the writing, but an AI-generated discussion produced “On the Fly” - Enjoy! Did you know that the word "school" comes from the ancient Greek word scholē , which originally meant "leisure"? Not a rigid schedule or droning lectures filled with "facts," but free time for thinking and conversation. To the Greeks, learning happened best when life slowed down—when you had room to reflect, to ask questions, and to wrestle ...

Doc Welch - The Country Doctor

In this episode, Doc Welch . . . Many authors have characterized life in rural Illinois over the years. Among the more notables are Edgar Lee Masters, who wrote Spoon River Anthology, Carl Sandburg for his poetry and biography of Abraham Lincoln, and little known to me until recently, my first doctor, whom everyone in town always called Doc Welch - James K. Welch, M.D.  (Feb. 7, 1915, to May 5, 1998) While exploring the microfilm of the Cuba Journal (published from 1884 to 1992), I consistently kept running across articles entitled The Country Doctor. This intrigued me. Doc Welch was a third-generation practicing Country Doctor in Cuba for over 40 years. His father, James William Welch, M.D., practiced medicine in Cuba for more than five decades. His grandfather, James Knox Welch, M.D., settled in Cuba after the Civil War. Cuba, Illinois, is a small, rural farming community in west-central Illinois, where I grew up. Like many small towns, it boasts a central square with a ban...

The Rhythm of the Woodpecker

The morning in Vista often begins under a heavy, gray marine layer that rolls in from the coast, pressing a damp, muffled stillness over the neighborhood. At 4:30 a.m., the driveways are still full. The local commuters are either blissfully unconscious or stumbling blindly toward their showers, clinging desperately to their last shred of peace before the nine-to-five grind claims them for the day. I, on the other hand, am voluntarily wide awake in the dark. When your agenda consists of absolutely nothing, it is critical to get an early start. Inside the house, the quiet is profound, broken only by the sharp, mechanical click of the kettle as it reaches a rolling boil. I stand at the counter, watching the dark ground coffee bloom as hot water hits the French press's stainless steel. The smell is sudden and heavy—a deep, roasted-earth aroma that cuts through the morning fog. I push against the plunger’s gritty resistance, pouring a cup that radiates dark, stinging heat against my pal...