homesweethome.

"I thought if I could touch this place, or feel it....this brokenness inside me might start healing. Out here it's like I'm someone else, I thought that maybe I could find myself..." These lyrics come from country singer phenomena Miranda Lambert's 'The House that Built Me' and I feel its connection wholeheartedly when I think about my home in Maine.


Growing up in a north, northeastern state like Maine provided many things. Seclusion from the hustle and bustle of a busy suburb outside of say, Boston, NYC, or even Philadelphia. It provided land and sustainability that we learned as kids, growing small, seriously some teeny-weeny carrots in our little garden plots in our first hometown of Gray. We learned that if you can't keep a sister as your best friend, you may end up playing alone, because during those first years we truly kept ourselves close to one another and to nature surrounding us. In addition, Maine has always provided a comfort for me, that eminent green bridge that tells you where you've crossed the state line into "Vacationland," and the air smells of ocean salt and campfires, opposed to the either lack of breeze, or whatever scent city hustle and bustle tends to sweat.


Not that I don't enjoy where I am today--nor where I've been until now. I was in D.C. for the fourth of July, and what better place to see the fireworks at our nation's capital? I was also, fortunately, visiting with some of our nation's best, 2 college roommates, and much discussion about what 'home' means to us came up during our weekend banter. One so wise Patty said she felt 'just at home' with us at the dinner table, out conversing over sangria and margarita pitchers, and pausing to inhale some delicious quesadillas at a fave Mexican restaurant in Dupont Circle. The other so talented Lindsey had been home in central NY, (her summers off from teaching in hot Charlotte), and she was happy to finally be lounging with Mom when she wasn't working, and otherwise enjoying her travels visiting friends. I, myself, having been unemployed for a little while felt so inclined to offer, 'home really is where you make its place, and I too felt like my heart had settled in more than one.'


This sentiment, I'm sure has crossed paths of other posts, but nonetheless, being out of work really helped put this idea of what home is into perspective. I find myself mainly in three places. Maine, Syracuse, and "Current." Maine offered the foundation upon which I thought I knew myself, SU provided the means on which my roots could establish, and whereever I am today is in part home as I begin a family I am so luckily able to grow alongside (that's you, Michael and little Windsor). I don't suppose there is any formula for where one's home is or will be, but if you cannot share it with someone, at least a neighbor down the road, or the sun that wakes with you and tucks you into your bed at night, if there is not one being that bestows its presence in your life, I am not sure you have yet found your home....ever.


So, as I sit here in lonliness in the grand state of "Vacationland" - alas the lobster dinner hangovers have sent the working minions to sleep; baby W is tucked in her travel kennel, and the family dog is none the wiser about another Michel up and about...I am grateful to be home, if only for a few days. For I know that my other homes are still out there supporting me, and they are ever waiting for me to return. I suppose it's not often a life, so lucky as mine, feels that it can be in many places at once and find a hug in return, or memory to welcome one back.