At a little before 7 AM this morning, Max reminded me in no uncertain terms that I was home. He has a beagle’s voice, even though he looks like a Schnauzer, and he was in full throat telling me he wanted to go out. That, of course, is part of being a “dad” to a pack of pups.
So, down the stairs we went and, as I opened the door to let Max, Gracie and Gyptse out (Lo Khyi was sleeping in today, as he often does), I was struck by the sense of “home.” The sun was rising and the light was still soft as I looked out into our backyard and across the neighborhood. It was familiar and comfortable.
So too is the sound of the air exchanger blowing as I sit at the kitchen island typing. And my plants covering the old library table I’ve used for over forty years to hold my greenery. Three of my orchids are in bloom, the lipstick plant as well, and a few of the violets. They too tell me I’m home.
My office, which is packed with memorabilia and things that are part of my story, awaits as well. When I unpacked a few things back into it last night it too reassured me that I was home and that it was waiting for me to take my usual spot behind the desk with a cup of coffee close to hand.
The road is great. I love the adventure of exploring new places. I love the opportunity to learn. And travel always makes me think and reflect and that too is good. But I need to recharge after a while and home is where I do it.
It’s good to be home.