I took a break. I went away for a long weekend. I went to Arkansas where I connected with a bunch of writers from (in)courage. It was a good, deep breath of fresh air. I needed a break. I think I’ve probably been running on empty a lot these days.
I am home, now.
The plane touched down at the airport, and I sent a text to say we’d landed. Then, I gathered up my things, hoisting my carry-on over my shoulder and making my way up the jetway and into the terminal. My husband always picks me up curbside, after I’ve claimed my suitcase from the baggage carousel.
I walked the ramp from the terminal toward the escalator, smiling at the people who were waiting expectantly for children and parents and friends and lovers to come home.
I almost missed him, because I wasn’t expecting him. I thought he’d be waiting for my next text—the one that says I’ve claimed my bag and I’ll be waiting just outside, through the revolving door. But he stepped into my path unannounced, just the way he’d done at the beginning, nearly three decades before.
When I travel, the hardest part is leaving home. Once I get where I’m going, I’m fine—completely immersed in the moment, in fact. I rarely call home when I’m away. But the return to the mess on my own kitchen cabinets and the light shining on dust in the living room and the bed where I drift to sleep with my leg draped over his is always the very best part of every single trip.
Tell me a travel story of your own. What is the very best part of it for you?
You never fail to remind that it’s the simple things that matter. Thank you and I love you.
oooh, those images of returning home into the arms of your beloved-marvelous. What a blessing that a good love lasts, and still feels new all while being both exciting and comfortable. I love traveling, and I try to immerse myself if the being away, but it is always the rituals of home that are the very best part.
Bless the love you and H nurture for one another.
Peace and good,
Chelle
I think one of my favorite traveling moments is when my husband and I go camping. There are few things as peaceful as sitting with him next to the campfire in the evening, and looking at the stars. And then crawling into a warm sleeping bag on a cold, cold night.
It gives me that *us against the world* kinda feel. Like we’re really a team.
Sigh.
GOD BLESS! (And welcome home!)
When I come home from a trip, my husband has always changed the sheets because I LOVE that and he is wearing a blue shirt that I complimented many years ago! I LOVE COMING HOME TO HIM!
This story is like one long exhale.
Makes me want to leave, just so I can come home.
So glad you had a lovely time.
Not an hour ago Ade’ snuggled into my lap and told me he loved me and he loved our home. This, upon my return from the rink with #skatergirl. I was tired. But I could tell he missed me. And I was grateful he thought of me, and home in the same breath. Reading your post reminds me of that moment. Home.
Arkansas is one of my favorite places to go when i need to “breathe” and gain perspective. Even better with good friends! Or family, in my case. The times that I go away are usually the times I most clearly hear God’s voice. And that is the best part!
On a recent RV trip, we returned to the Florida panhandle, a place packed with memories of when the kids were little and we camped in a tent and later in a pop-up. We hadn’t been there for a long time, and hadn’t been to the Gulf for a few years. I was craving it. I knew that, but I didn’t know how much until I hopped out of the RV to help my husband back us into our campsite at Henderson Beach State Park in Destin. I signaled him to back up, back up, back up. Stop. That’s good. He put the RV in park and turned off the engine. In the quiet and stillness after hours of driving, I turned around and looked at the scraggly trees struggling up through sand and shells and stones, their branches awkward and jagged, the green of the leaves a different green from the leaves up here in the Midwest, more brilliant in color and the texture more waxy. I saw the iridescent green bushes I love, brilliant against the gleaming white sand. Palmetto leaves crackled when they scraped against each other. I smelled the sea in the air. The late afternoon sun was slipping behind the dune. I felt something swelling inside of me. My husband opened the door of the RV and stepped out. “What do you think?”
I burst into tears and started weeping sloppy, happy tears, the kind that form from a deep, joy-filled place; the kind that explode out of you. All I could manage to say was, “I’m just so happy!” Hap-py came out kind of hiccup-y, and I clapped my hand to my mouth, the way people do at surprise parties when they’re overwhelmed. I had to sit down on the picnic bench for a few minutes.
Some people have a strong sense of place. It might be formed because of a connection to topography or heritage, of a hankering for mountains or sea. Some people are drawn to the place of their birth or they step off an airplane in a country they’ve never been before and feel they’ve come “home.”
Ever since I was a child, all I wanted to do was be by the ocean, so my travel stories often involve a large body of water, usually the Gulf of Mexico, often the Atlantic, occasionally the Pacific, and at times one of the Great Lakes. I’m drawn to water. That’s my travel thing.
You inspired me to write tonight. It’s about a bus ride in Granada. http://theduryees.com/2014/07/23/unfamiliar-bus/
I had a great trip to CA and stayed with my little sister. We usually have a “3day rule” because, you know, “family, like fish, goes bad after 3 days.”
We got along, even had fun together! We took a mini road trip and drove down PCH on a Sunday afternoon. I learned what a great mom she is, how her kids are so amazing. It’s hard to know these things when there’s been fifteen hundred miles between us (or more!) all our adult lives. She learned about what I do, and I shared some tips for her to use on her camera phone. We laughed. We cried, remembering what we could about our dad, who we learned this year passed away last year, and growing up in such a contentious home. We learned that the 3 year difference in our age was really about 10 years… Both being forced to grow up way before we were ready to, having lost our mom as a child and a teenager. We realized that the view of life was very different for each of us. Not better. Not worse. Just different.
We healed.
At the end of 10 days I was ready to go home, but ready to plan my next trip out to see her… And THAT was a first! It was so good… I never
This is so gorgeous, Deidra.
Always, always, there have been the unexpected little asides that make the trip more memorable.
Fiji, 1989: I am sitting on the floor in the chief’s house on Naigani. I’ve brought my gift of kava and he has accepted it, which means I am accepted to stay (which is a good thing, after the 7 hours on a bus plus 2 hours sitting all alone at the end of a dock in the middle of nowhere hoping a boat was really coming to get me . . . )
I sat in the corner on the perimeter of the group, remaining in a location that was appropriate for a person of no/low status in the group. One Fijian teenage girl was in the doorway preparing the kava; otherwise I was the only woman present.
There was no broadcast television in Fiji at the time, and as the village’s generator was out of order, the only light came from kerosene lanterns. I sat on the floor in the chief’s house on this 540-acre speck of earth in the south Pacific ocean and felt father from home than I’d ever felt before. It was all so exotic, new, and strange.
You don’t point your toes at people when you sit on the floor in Fiji; it’s considered rude. I had shifted my legs once or twice, always being careful not to land with my toes pointed at anyone. One of the men invited me to move closer to the center of the group, closer to the chief (a ruse to see if I really knew my place) and I said, “Oh, I’m fine, thanks. Don’t worry.”
And from the opposite corner of the chief’s bure, a man who had been nodding, half-asleep, suddenly sat bolt upright and said,
“Don’t Worry. Be Happy.”
I love that your man is still surprising you. That’s the best.
Beautifully said. Truly, there is nothing like coming home. I find myself becoming home body to be here to greet my travelers. Having traveled so much as a young woman, I sort of just love being home. That said, wandering and journeying to new places is an adventure. Welcome home and glad you had a safe and restorative time away.
This is so, so sweet, Deidra.
Your words, your images, your heart – simply lovely, Deidra.
how i long for the simple while living in a crazy busy culture. thank you for sharing
Oh I love this! We are not big travelers (yet)… lots of close to home trips but not a lot of airplanes and cross country or ocean travels. One of my most favorite parts of travel are the little notes. My Honey and my Girlie and I – we all three do this thing… we leave little notes all over the place. If you are the one staying – we hide them at home… if you are going – chances are good you will find them in every suitcase and car and random pockets and shoes! But whether we travel together as a couple or a family – we all agree… it’s lovely to go, and it’s so nice to come home!
Well, there’s the time the time the Atlantic wave ripped my ACL, the time I mysteriously lost my wedding rings somewhere in John Pennekamp State Park, the time I went to a convention in Hawaii without my husband because he has no interest–he says–in Hawaii.
I usually procrastinate so long in the packing process that I get very little or no sleep before I head for the plane. My husband’s always there to pick me up–but I don’t much like coming home. Life is not as simple, and I hate unpacking or paying bills I forgot to pay before I left… 🙂
Oh, Sandra, that makes me so sad.
Which makes you sad? I think it’s all kind of funny now. Except, of course, for my rings. It was on our 10th anniversary–to the day. I wonder who’s wearing them now–or if they’re still hidden somewhere in that green Maverick…
And one day, I might be able to talk the husband into a little WWII history… I know his weak places. 😉
The “I don’t much like coming home” part.
Well, it only lasts until after I clean up my mess. Then it’s all good.
Kind of funny I write this when I’m writing about home over at Charity’s today. 😉
I love to travel. The best part of any trip is finally arriving to my destination, especially if I fly. I could skip that part. Ha! It’s not that I don’t like flying, its just a hurdle to get thru airport and waiting and praying my luggage is intact and arrives. My favorite part was our group finally leaving customs in airport in Managua, Nicaragua, last year, without a fight but no equipment, though. Personal luggage got thru fine. I couldn’t wait til morning came so i could see the country i wanted to be in and be at New Song Mission. It was a good 5 days!
The very first two hours are the best catching up, hugging, smiling and sharing… and being in the presence of my family. No place like home. Feels good to be present amongst family. It’s a different kind of energy & very rejuvenating.