As you know, I’ve been on vacation. Up to this past week, I’ve done pretty well about posting as usual, but then, well, I kind of got caught up in catching up.
I haven’t seen my folks in several years and my brother in longer than that. We got to take a little tour of my Mom and Dad’s home town and the joy and nostalgia in Pop’s voice was, in itself, worth the trip.
I hung out with my mom, watched her surprised happiness when her quilt sold in the first two hours of the quilt show. I got to bask in her pride that her eldest daughter is now a published author.
We visited my brother and I was pleased to get reacquainted with my handsome nephews and talk with the man who would still be my favorite brother, even if he wasn’t my only one. My high opinion of my sister in love was affirmed, and what a sweet thing it was to see the love and security in that family.
I remembered the Sierra Nevadas and watched the wild things in Mom’s yard and enjoyed the sunsets. We talked and sewed and laughed a lot. And then it was time to come home.
There is a quality to the feeling of coming home after a time away that is unmatched by any other feeling a person can have. It is not a question of depth of emotion or the importance of the event. Births, deaths, marriages, are all arguably more important and engender greater feeling than simply coming home. But there is an indefinable feeling of welcome and comfort and peace that comes with walking in your own front door, no matter where you’ve been traveling, or how much you enjoyed the trip, that makes the journey all the sweeter for its ending. It is simply and profoundly, good to be home.