Tuesday, January 8, 2013

There's No Place Like Home

Dear John,
There's no place like home!
I'm home. And the critters mobbed me. Then they mobbed each other. Then they curled up and went to sleep. I expected Jethro to wear himself out at the vet's, even if he was only there one day. I didn't know what to expect from the cat, but he's worn out, too. He probably took advantage of the dog-free time to explore the house and play. He ran to me when I came in, and has been curled up with me ever since. It's nice to be welcomed home.
 
Have you noticed that we didn't have hotel adventures when we went places together (except for Hayes, Kansas), but I've had them every time I traveled without you, even if you made the reservations? The trip to the Keys for Elyssa's birth is legendary for its hotel problems, the trip to Lexington was the one with the bat in my room, and this one you know about. It seem that I can't travel safely without you.
 
When we traveled together, our adventures always pertained to the car. There was the night the battery fell into the radiator fan, the two tires we blew in Clare, Michigan, and the day we blew three tires (in sequence, thank goodness, not unison) in the middle of nowhere. I still don't know where we were that day, and I had the map. Oh, and we had the flat outside Winston-Salem that day - the adventure there was the repair shop, not the tire. We finally decided to never take the car out of the garage again on our anniversary.
 
I'm happy tonight. It felt good to be in Indianapolis. The Dreaded Holiday Season is over and life is getting back to the usual routine. And going back put the other bookend on the year. I was there just a week short of a year after we first got there. Putting that other bookend in place lightened something in my heart. I know this doesn't make a lick of sense, but somehow it's true. If it gets any more coherent in my head, I'll let you know. I just know that whatever it is, is good. And it's good to be home again - my critters, my bed, my kitchen, my television channels, my bathroom - where no fist has ever been put through the drywall, and I have luxuries like lights over the mirror.
 
Your loving, incoherent, homebody wife,
Joan.

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