I’m home. Still living out of a suitcase because I haven’t unpacked… but I am home. No more traveling for a good long while. My siblings were excited to see me, and they made me feel loved as usual. The entourage was waiting in the driveway with a banner for my car to break. But I do have to say they are very opinionated. Within two hours of walking in the door they had made several judgments: according to my little brother, (who weights in at all of fifty-some pounds complete with toothpicks for legs) my backside is too big. I also have too much hair, I’m getting old, and apparently I’m supposed to be having children because I got baby bibs in my birthday presents. Becca saw them at a garage sale and bought them because they had music notes on them. They said they were for my hope chest, but I don’t really believe them. If I let my siblings plan my life I think I would have been married three years ago with fourteen flower girls and would already have five children. Oh well. I love my family with all their ridiculous comments and take it stride; it is my proof that they love me. No mistaking I am at home either.
The last five months have been a brainial, emotional and physical whirlwind, but they have landed me in the place I love most in the world. My goal for this summer is to be. To be with the people I love, and just to be—be still, be calm, be quiet. There is a certain attic calling my name, and a box of books from which I may choose (a luxury only afforded to me three or four months out of the year), as well as a few of my favorite couches scattered throughout town. I’m ready to stop thinking so hard and listen. If I hear anything worth sharing, I’ll let you know.