Skip to main content

I'm lucky I know, but I wanna go home

The thing I love about home most is whenever I come back, even if I've been gone for five months - or last year when I was gone for six- no matter what, it feels as though I never left at all.
That's what defines home, at least for me. It's the place where you feel comfortable and feel as though you belong no matter how long you've been away.
As soon as I walked in the door I noticed it smells the same. And not even smells the same, it feels the same - as in the energy thing. It's the same temperature - cool enough to wear a hoodie and sweatpants inside but not so cold that you're uncomfortable when you step out of the shower. The light streams through the family room windows the same. My mom's foot steps echo down the hallway in the same pitch. My favorite spot on the couch still collapses in, and my overstuffed pillows still provide the perfect back rest. When my dad opens and closes the back door it still gets stuck in the same spot, causing him to have to give it that little extra slam. The kitchen cabinets still squeak when opened more than halfway. On my run I noticed they still didn't fill in the pot hole at the top of the street I always trip in. The light at the intersection still takes far too long. The water in my shower still drizzles down the wall. It still takes fourteen steps to get from my basement to the upstairs. The bird house in the back yard still tips at a 15 degree angle.
I love that when I was hungry in the middle of the night I got up and made exactly what I wanted and I knew exactly where everything was to make it. I love knowing everything in my home is at my disposable and I don't have to ask permission to use anything - although I'm still not sure if that's a home thing or a Weller thing...my family is extremely open with all our stuff, we definitely live in a, "nothing is sacred" zone - even if it has a note that says, "PLEASE DO NOT TOUCH!" It's just something I've gotten used to.
I definitely took all of that for granted before I moved. I also love that in St. Louis I know exactly where I am at all times and I know exactly what short cuts to take and what streets to avoid. If some one tells me where they're from I have familiar reference points and I know how to get here. In Boston I still feel like I'm missing that.
My home in Missouri is perfectly predictable, and that's what I absolutely love about it. When I come home, it feels like I left to run errands instead of moving halfway across the country.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Stop Shoulding all over yourself

Yesterday I went on Cor Jesu's Vivare "young alumni" retreat. My friend from high school Katie posted it on my wall a few weeks ago and tagged a couple other CJ sisters to the post and it struck my interest. I haven't done a single thing with CJ since I graduated and somewhere between moving to Boston and joining the triathlon team my Catholic past was put on the backburner. I figured I had nothing to lose except a Saturday and at the very least I'd get to hang out with my friends so I signed up and sent in my $25 without much thought.  I've never been the most devout Catholic. Most times in church I'm scanning the crowd for familiar faces, zoning out, and making Target lists- and that's if I go at all. Sunday is usually run-day...or ski day. Or sleep in day. Or study day. Or vacuum day. Whatever day it is...it's rarely church day. Despite being raised by two Catholic parents, going to a Catholic grade school and a Catholic high school, going o...

A Near Miss

I may have spoken too soon when I said that Kirkwood library was my spot. Here I am comfortably doing my speech-pathology work when out of nowhere: We took the square route of this and put it here and here and put it there and there.  My ears tuned in and I raised my head. I sniffed the air and suspiciously scanned the area. Yep. Math. Immediately I broke out in a sweat. Hands started shaking. Eyes twitched. Jaw clenched and neck twisted. Vomit literally came up my esophagus. Pavlov conditioning in it's purest form.  So this times this gives you this and this times this gives you that.  Focus, Katie. Hmm....a 2 year old with hearing loss who is struggling with some final consonant deletion, some stopping of fricatives, some devoicing? Now that, I am good at.... Now do you see inside your parenthesis that there is a difference of squares? No I don't see, lady. That past is long behind me and I'm never going back.  Right now I'm transcribing, identifying ...

Weekend

As promised, here's a blog about my weekend - I know you've been sitting on the edge of your rolly computer chair waiting for it with bated breath. Friday after my guitar class, which went not-so-fabulously, as per usual, Chris and I had a little adventure to Harpoon Brewery where we met up with my ever beloved (and apparently much talked about) bff Dave. It took us a little adventuring and a little guessing to get there but we made it there and home with lots of "I have a hunch this is the way to go"-ing. It convinced me fully that we'd be great on a European back-packing trip together. We don't fight, we don't argue, we don't get frustrated, we just laugh and follow our gut. Which led us to beer! Isn't that what Germany is all about?  Anyway, Harpoon was awesome. You just go, hear about beer, and drink all you want. I picked up a growler of the cider - highly recommended. We literally guessed what bus to get on to get home and turns out it led...