Apologies for the hiatus from the blogosphere. Just got back from a visit home for the holidays. Upon reflection, something occured to me which made me very smiley, indeed: my heart has more than one home and it suits me just fine.

We started our trip back with a weekend in New York City. A weekend is hardly long enough for such a place, but our visit was especially short and sweet. Some cherished friends took trains from Connecticut, Maryland and DC to come and see us. We only passed a few hours together, but the huggin’ and the gigglin’ and the drinkin’ was just the restorative tonic my heart had been in need of.

Walking the streets of Soho, I had a thought, “I feel at home here.” True, it had a lot to do with being back on American soil after another year had gone by, and being in such an iconic city at that. But I also had a sense of how effortlessly I move through big crazy cities and it made me feel proud of myself. For such a small town girl, I have managed to acquire some city smarts over the years, and mostly, I just feel comfier in my own skin, thus at home wherever I happen to find myself. I paused to give myself some kudos for that.

Coming Home, Part Two: arriving at the airport in Ohio to the welcoming arms of my dear Mumsy. In fact, I think one of the best things about having moved so far away is how damn good it feels to be reunited with those I love the most after a year’s seperation. The emails, the pictures, the Skype calls are great for trying to bridge the gap, but nothing can take the place of her happy eyes and her warm embrace.

Ohio is my birth home and I feel a lot of love for the place. But home would be wherever my family happened to be. For awhile now, that’s been Ohio and it has tied me to that place.
But I don’t feel that Ohio is the place where I belong necessarily. I have no doubt that were I to move back there, I could make myself a little nest and begin to build my happiness up twig by twig. After all, I am just an adaptable creature that way.
But on my last day, I had a very strong feeling. We were over at my sister’s house watching the Buckeyes play in the Rose Bowl. My sister and her hubby are huge Bucks fans (as is my family in general) and they loves them a football party.
In a scene that felt eerily Turkish, the party was segregated by sex. The men were out in the garage with the deep friers, the beer coolers and the space heater. The women were in the living room with all the crazy kids zipping around. And the matriarchs (my mother and my sister’s mother in law) were in the kitchen; dishing out food, doing the dishes.
As I sat on the couch between these two suburban mommies sipping my margarita and trying to ignore the queso dip, my mind wandered. I felt like I should feel out of place and yet I didn’t. I mean, if my sister and I were not related by blood, we wouldn’t even be friends. She and I are entirely different people. And though suburban mommies are perfectly nice people, we often don’t have much in common. It may be in part due to the easy going ways of Mid -Western folk. They may think I am a total oddball living on the other side of the world in a country they have never even thought about, but they don’t let on. In their presence, I was just another woman and that felt nice.

At the same time, I could never live the life my sister lives. Her universe makes so much sense to her and it sustains her. But if I lived in a little subdivision with a parcel of kids and a small dog, his and hers Toyotas and a raging Starbuck’s habit, I would probably heat up the oven and pull a Sylvia Plath. Not to judge, but it just ain’t for me, that whole scenario. Yet seeing my sister so settled, so loved, fills me with joy somehow.

Waking up at my parents’ house, looking out the window at the fresh snow and deer tracks on the peaceful landscape filled my soul with wonder. The house was never quiet for long, as it is chock full of an endless stream of visitors and party-goers, little people and animals of all varieties. It’s kind of a mad house, which is exactly how my parents like it.
But being able to go back into the woods on New Year’s Eve and just sit around a campfire with my Dad, my man, my brother and random folks was a truly priceless experience. The simple childish pleasure of roasting a hotdog on a stick. Watching nails from a pallet shoot green flames through the fire. Enjoying a fine Kentucky bourbon in a snugly sweater on a bright warm moonlit night in one of my heart’s homes. Ahhhh!

And coming home today was another revelation. When we pushed open the door and turned on the light, my eyes lit up at the sight of our place. I love our cozy home and I missed it. There’s just something so precious about having your own little space filled with familiar things, just waiting patiently to be filled with your joy, your sorrow, your energy. I wouldn’t trade that feeling for the world.

2009 was a very rough year for me. I came out of an emotional tailspin and tried desperately to right myself before I crashed headlong into the side of a mountain. I believe I succeeded. And yet, there are still some mighty big questions left for me to explore as a result of this dismantling/healing/dismantling.

I am not sure what it is I really want. I am not sure where it is I truly belong. And those feel like weighty questions at my age.

Anyhow, I may not know where I am headed in the big picture, but in the meantime, I intend to enjoy the heck out of wherever I am!