There's No Place Like...

I was so happy. I sang, the scenery glided past through the windshield. We turned off the music and ended up singing without it. (Have you ever heard the "Penguins" sing the song about how God doesn't want us to cheat? It was that one. If you know it, you'll  understand.)

I was going home, to my cozy little  kitchen, the drawer with chocolate chips and nuts in it  (ever tried that snack?) my piano, the house that often listened as I sang loudly and heart-feltedly (yes, I know that's not a word), the family who silently endured, and might even have joined in, on my rendition(s) of "I Surrender All", "Leaning On The Everlasting Arms", "I Choose To Believe That You Are Faithful" or "Higher Ground"....etc...etc...

I felt like throwing my head back and closing my eyes and taking in a nice deep breath - almost overwhelmed by the joyfulness welling up inside.

The crunch of gravel on the trail by our house, the taste of chocolate chip cookie dough (that mom reluctantly consented to my making), the creak of wood floors, the sunshine... and the pizza we would be having (a special treat that had a HUGE influence on my happy thoughts.)

It wasn't that my visit had been particularly bad, I just, somehow, came home loving home. (The pizza had a lot to do with it.)  My home. Our home.

During that day-and-a-half away from the place where I freely lavish my off-the-record presence (the louder version of me, at least) upon the people who live with me,  I learned quite a few things.

One: I can indeed work quickly when I have to. When, however, I have no authentic reason to hurry, I find it extremely hard to do so. (Cleaning my aunt's sickroom before she got home from the hospital might have been one of the fastest things I've ever done in my life.)

Two: (Something Mom taught me a long time ago that I remembered.)
Cleaning a house is good. Picking up a house is better. When you clean a house, you move papers and dust underneath. The counter is clean, but it still looks cluttered. When, on the other hand, you pick up  the papers, they're gone and the counter looks far more clean than if you would have  really "cleaned" it. Simple, I know. (Though there is still a place for cleaning.)

Three: Short periods away from home renew one's appreciation of that glorious place. You realize how awesome it is to do your own, normal thing with or around the people who know you as you are.

(You don't have to sing in whispers. They already know what you sound like.)

When you come home from little vacations like mine, you might be giddy with happiness about going back to your natural habitat. You might see the silhouettes of your "haunts" in your mind and envision wood floors and cozy-colored-kitchen walls. You might imagine the high-pitched voice of your little sister. You might learn that you love "home" way more than you thought you did - like me.

Think about your "abode." What do you love about it? What do you see?

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There's No Place Like...