As much as I love to travel, coming home is sweet.
“Coming home.” Those two words bring a smile of remembrance and satisfaction. On the last leg of the journey, “home” is the prevailing thought.
I love when we turn the corner after being away. Our light green Bakersfield house comes into view, then our purple door. Once inside, we’re surrounded by colorful souvenirs and art from places we’ve visited. The comfort of our home renews us.
It’s great to be among my own stuff, in my own space. A familiar bed, a favorite chair, appliances that I know how to work. No bright light shining in my eyes, disturbing my sleep. We bask in our yard with the trees and plants that Judy placed in the ground, the funky art work that adorns our backyard fence, and our “tableaux of interest” as brother John puts it.
Coming home is a break from being on sensory overload. It’s a respite from being inundated by new sights, sounds, and tastes. I get to reconnect with myself in the familiarity of an environment that we’ve created. It’s the perfect place to rejuvenate and get ready to go again, knowing that it will be right here when I return.
In Coos Bay, this is our sixth summer in the Birch Street house. Now, this place is like coming home, too. But, that’s true of the whole town.
There is no place like home; or, wherever one feels at home.
~ xoA ~