Defining home

Home could be anywhere, really. It's where you're comfortable, where you find a pillow that is thick or thin or fluffy on non-allergenic enough to fit your sleeping. Or where you find an analogy of that pillow. It's where you can breathe. For me, home is two-fold: Where I feel loved, and where I feel safe. That's home. By that definition though, home could be a tent in the woods, or on the beach. If the right people are there, home could be anywhere.

Lately, I've not spent too much time within the walls that mean mortgage and taxes for me, at the address to which my bills are delivered - beyond very necessary sleep, a few hours here and there of equally necessary down time, a shower, a nap, and a place to hang my dry cleaning. In the past month, Augusta has been here, Shannon has been here, Gaye has been here. That translates to two of my dearest friends (from Vermont and New Jersey), and my boss (from London), respectively. Their suitcases and toiletries were here, but we were not. We were here, there and everywhere. We were at Cafe Adobe drinking margaritas, Star Pizza keeping an eye on the girls running circles around the waiters, Ninfa's on a Sunday afternoon, Downing Street, Chaise Lounge drinking champagne splits after a late flight arrival, the Rodeo on a Saturday that had to include new boots, Cyclone Anais because we could watch the basketball, El Tiempo, and Cahills watching basketball and talking about babies both born and unborn. And a fish fry that could have fed twenty but instead on which the six of us feasted towards gluttony. Did I mention that I've had a few margaritas, a lot of dinners out, and a few late hours the past four weeks?

I've introduced and re-introduced, Didn't you two meet last time she was in town? We have laughed and melded and shared stories that made sure that none of us needed to open a compact of blusher. The hours have been painfully late even where the night was designed for the opposite, even when we stayed home and chatted and looked up at the clock and she gasped, Oh no, it's 1:30! As if it were a spill we could wipe up, and not three hours of sleep we lost and would search for the next day and somehow find and then discard over a company-sponsored happy hour because my boss was in town. She yawned and looked at me in a begging sort of Oh no kind of way when we received the email announcement that the happy hour was scheduled, and in her honor.

A friend told me once that you cannot un-ring a bell. I'd never heard that before, but think that lately I am holding hands with the familiar of that one. Some things build momentum on their own and when it's there, it's undeniable.

It's not as if you can put them back on a plane, or try to reclaim the night before. You go on. In this Lazy Susan of juggling visitors and friends and work and sleep and family, one day at a time is not only applicable but necessary. A good night's sleep, as in eight hours, or even six if you're one of those lucky few... who needs that when there's so much discovery and reunion going on?

How do you say one day at a time when you're on a schedule that is all about airport arrivals and departures?

Where am I right now? I'm at home. My mortgage-taxes-and-mail home. Where Cheyenne lets me pay for her life while ruling the rhythm of the house. Right now, save for Cheyenne stretched out along the length of the couch and snoring, it's the echoes I hear of who was so recently here. And the circular hum of the clothes dryer. I'm tired and want to freeze the clock for a day or two. Or a week.

And yet tomorrow, it's my turn to travel. I'll be in Philadelphia and Annapolis for the rest of the week. My bag is packed, but my head is still spinning from my recent yesterdays, from the past four weeks of friends and sharing and laughing. From being honored, and humbled. From being happy and excited to learn again that though our lives are different, it's our hearts that keep us connected. From being surprised that, although I lost my father and feel that I'm still climbing out of the hell that has made this my worst year professionally, somehow my performance review was glowing.

I've been reminded that though nothing remains the same, the physical is familiar. Faces and mannerisms are familiar. Voices and dreams always. There is a braided line between that says to me when I am with them, This is home.

I've been reminded that I am never alone in whatever place or situation I find myself. It's not the walls or the familiarity of photos and stuff gathered through the years that makes this place my home, it's faces, the recognition, the tempo of the present, the promise of the future, the warmth of a shared past. No matter where you kick your shoes off, if the right people are there, well, pillows be damned, you're home.