An apt topic for this weekend's writing, as I've only just returned from a vacation from Parts West, from my hometown. How can I limit it to just five minutes?
Home is where the heart is. If so, my home is with my loved ones. It's with my husband and baby.
Home is familiarity. That city, that state, that region--I spent my formative years there and they are my home as nothing else will be or can be. To be in my culture of origin--Colorado is so different from the South!--and feel at home not like an interloper is good. To smell that smell of pine trees and wind that comes (literally!) from mountaintops to valleys. (I remember Uncle Janis used to say "That's the smell of fresh air!" There's nothing like coming back from Away and smelling that smell again.
Oddly, I found my Mother-in-Law's house to be my home as well. We arrived there after two days on the road and it felt so relaxing to arrive. I felt at home. I dawdled in the shower. I washed clothes. I knew without asking where the laundry pre-treat is and that I was welcome to use it.
And now, in my own house where I've lived for 4 years, I am home. My kitchen. My bedroom. My living room. Here I am housemother, saimniece, hostess. Here is where I cook and clean and live large moments and tiny moments.