Going Home

There is an old song called “Going Home” we used to sing in high school back over 50 years ago. It was a sad and nostalgic melody that always brought a tear. It was, of course, referring to heaven. I always think of this tune when I come home to the Northwest part of our country. It truly is a little bit of heaven. The azaleas and flowering plum are in bloom and the air has a wonderful freshness that I have never experienced any where else in the world.

As I look out my window and I can see hills in the distance covered with evergreens and across the vacant lot I can see Starbucks. If this is not heaven, I don’t know what is.

So the bags have been unpacked, mail sorted, the newspaper delivery restarted and the gifts stacked in a corner to be distributed later.

Our home had been tenderly taken care of by our cat, RV and his companion for the winter. The precious small things we collect during our travel are all around us and my kitchen spread out before me waiting to be visited many time a day.

The computer lay in a tiny closet in the kitchen with the clutter that I treasure. Names of friends hang on my wall so I can call or email them at the drop of a hat. I attach my isight camera to the top of my PowerBook so my children can video chat with us from China and we can keep up with the activities at their school. Maddie will sit on her kitchen counter and show us all the art work she has done for the week and maybe read us a book.

When I look at the pictures from our winter away from home, there is a sense of fantasy about the whole time that we were gone. Arizona, China and Las Vegas seem very far away. It takes me a while to realize that I missed basketball season in Oregon and baseball has already started. My grandchildren are growing up fast and several are now facing the hardship of teen years. We fret a little but trust their parents to take care of their needs. We also laugh a little because it seems only yesterday that we were facing the same dilemmas with them.

I will work on the plants on my three porches soon, removing everything and starting over again. Leaving the RV and it contents in Tucson has lifted a burden from my shoulders. I feel a sense of renewal as I look around my home. Everything looks fresh and new to me and ideas are running around in my head for projects I want to begin. My art work will appear on the kitchen counter as friends ask me to do things for them. People will gather around our dining room table so we can become reacquainted. My husband knows from years of experience that, for me, heaven is where I am. But I do love coming home best of all.


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