Home is home. Driving out of the snow and into the sun the further South we traveled. We were quiet. Sad to say goodbye from dear, dear friends. Molly and Ada seemed pleased to see us. The mail sorted in neat piles. Thanks, Leanne.
Laundry churning, coffee brewing, watering plants and birds feeding. Did we go anywhere at all? Back to normal so fast.
But memories are vivid. Dear friends, good food, laughter, Sasha the snowy white cat, shoveling snow, slipping and sliding, lights twinkle through the white-out. In the end we decided that a commune would work for us. In the mountains or by the sea - perhaps in Australia one day. The only problem might be that Bob and I both like to chew the bones clean and then how would Cheryl and Tom make soup stock? Cheryl said we would prepare two birds. One for the bone-chewers and the other for soup. How we enjoyed spending time with Anya and Dylan! Youthful, gentle, intellectual, sensitive.
Our Thanksgiving dinner tables full of 25 people from everywhere. Singapore, Japan, Australia, Philadelphia, Buffalo. Do I count as a Rhodesian, Zimbabwean, Israeli, American? I especially enjoyed Shuzo as we talked about spirituality and interconnectedness. His eyes flashed and gleamed as he accepted Charlie into our conversation and spoke of relationships, a beloved wife, Buddhism, animism with depth and passion.
In Buffalo, familiar streets and fond memories. We drive by our old house to see that it has been painted yellow and green. It does not feel like home any longer. And yet as we drove home into Philadelphia I started to weep uncontrollably. Waves of grief and longing rose up to greet me, surprising me from somewhere in my brain hidden from view all the seven hours of travel. Marion said, "Tam, it takes two years." Perhaps she is right. It is almost one year since the move.
Gulping back the tears, I return to myself ... here and now ...
The old oak tree outside my living room window is quite bare and winter on its way.