HELLO, HOME

                            ESSAY ON COMING HOME

 

As daylight neared, still weary feet had no reason to tip toe to the bathroom. This tiny pleasure was told to the lady in the mirror who softly said, 'Ah, it's you, really you! I'm glad you're back. Nothing has been the same since you left me in my silver cage a month ago.' A slight warmth and coo of contentment flooded my being. Even knowing there was nobody here to share my delight, to whom I could tell my adventures, didn't dampen my first morning back. Everything felt and looked so perfect, just the way I like it to be, just the way I had left it all, knowing this wonderful semi-euphoria would overcome me when at last I opened my apartment door.

 

All of the fun things, the happy times, the stress, the weariness , the longings, were quickly relegated to deep recesses of my brain, stored only until contact would be made again with all the people left behind.
For a bit they would switch places and become important again, routine.

 

I had to relish the foolishness of 'getting down to it.' Clothes seemed to have a mind of their own as they quickly flew from my suitcases into piles of needing washing, cleaning, ironing, hanging in their usual organized patterns. A few important letters that the post office carelessly left with neighbors beckoned–but so did Jeopardy, so I did the unthinkable, stopped cold in my tracks, nuked instant coffee, took a few cookies and spent 30 minutes with Alex Trebeck. I was home! The uncomfortable den sofa felt like a pink cloud as I met my old friend, called out questions, some that even the contestants didn't know, more I didn't know. This was the simplest of joys. As early as it was, I bid him goodnite and retired to my neat bedroom where tossed pillows bid me a welcome, hop in, the t.v. clicker so close I barely had to move a muscle.

 

Sleep was short, things to do. My time with Alex let me retrieve my bearings and like a tornado pushing me forward, my jewelry went back in the drawer, toiletries in the medicine cabinet and under the sink. I looked around and saw not a towel, a piece of paper, a dish was anywhere it shouldn't be, letting sleep easily kiss me as I squirmed comfortably in my own small spot on this big earth.

 

In the morning routine cereal was icky as the defrosted milk was warm but it could have been nectar of the gods as it was in my own bowl, rinsed and put away the moment I finished eating. The calcium and Mevacor I forgot to take as I traipsed thousands of miles were now back on schedule. Nobody had to tell me where the iron was, nor what was in the refrigerator–very little. The dust buster had nothing to suck down its throat. The room temperature was set to MY satisfaction. My phone messages were listed, waiting to return them. My leftover money was counted and bills accumulated filed in orderly fashion. A wonderful CD of 40's music lilted thru every room.

 

The usual, 'It's great to go away but much greater to be home' was never said more enthusiastically than I said it to myself. Yet, with all the joy of returning home, I was overcome knowing that it would be a very long time until I would see my family again–maybe never.

 

Off to look over the new year's calendar to start planning my next visit once more—not just the going–

 

BUT THE WONDERFULNESS OF COMING HOME !