Home is where your purple chair is

I’m home!

I almost titled this post Home, Shit, Home.  A name my husband called one of our former residences, but I would be lying.  It is Home, Sweet, Home to the max.  Yes, I just reverted to my high school era.   It happens.

After being gone for 11 days over the holidays, I literally kissed the ground when we arrived home.  We’ve lived here in this new town, new state for one year now and it’s strange, because I haven’t really felt like it’s home.  But I’ve received confirmation now that truly it is, and I am embracing it as my home instead of a temporary stop on life’s journey.

EK was sure glad to get home too.  I’m not sure which of us was most excited.  She was homesick while we were away, and kept saying she wanted to go to Emma’s house.  It’s hard to try to explain to an almost 2 year old that we’d be back soon.  Their sense of time and ours has got to be so different.  Do you remember being little and it seemed like time was ETERNITY.  Waiting took FOREVER.

When we pulled into our town, it was dark and she was sitting in the back playing on my phone.  Suddenly we heard her say with all the enthusiasm in the world, “OH WE AT EMMA’S HOUSE!”  She recognized the path home.  We turned another corner and we heard, “OH, YES WE ARE!”  Then a bit further, “I KNEW IT!”

We walked in the door and she ran around seeing everything for the first time,  “OH THERE’S MY PURPLE CHAIR!  OH THERE’S MY CAR! OH, THERE’S MY BICYCLE.”

Pure joy and happiness.

From both of us.

And on an added note, I want to say the weather here is paradise compared to the Texas panhandle.  A year ago, I wouldn’t have believed it myself.  What?  The mountains?  Isn’t it cold there?  But I have become a believer.  It’s funny, many of the locals around here THINK it’s cold and I want to tell them to go visit Pampa, Texas for a few days and then come back.  I think they’ll be singing a different tune.

Me?  I’m staying home.

Mountains

I’m sitting at the base of a mountain, more or less, breathing in a piney smell, listening to birds, an occasional hummingbird’s soft sound and then the loud obnoxious caw of the crow.  The sky is dark with rain clouds, the thunder is booming in the distance.  It’s a cool 70* which just so happens to also be the high temperature of the day.  My senses are Alive.  Aware. Awake.

Glorious.  That’s a word that can be used, and is used by the locals around here.  The rain comes daily this season, beautiful, refreshing, life-giving rains.  It waters the tall pines, rushes over rocks in little streams, wets the pine needles cluttering the ground, cools the air until little goose bumps rise from my skin.  “Isn’t it glorious?”  the people say to no one in particular.  They speak to the pines, the deer, the birds.

Yes, we all agree silently.

Glorious.