Heaven

“No one realizes how beautiful it is to travel until he comes home
and rests his head on his old, familiar pillow.”
– Lin Yutang

I love to travel. In fact, when I grow up, I intend to travel often. This world has so much to see and so much to do. I want to take it all in; to squeeze the earth into my head, wrap my cranium around it and never let it go.

Chicago was awe-inspiring. It was amazing to see the bright lights of the big city. To watch a crowd cheer on their home team. To sit on the steps of a museum and listen to a concert. To eat and eat and eat. And to walk and walk and walk and walk.

And yet it was also marvelous to come home. The first thing I did (even before greeting the kids) was to inspect the fruit trees and garden. The plums and peaches were ready for picking. My tomatoes had finally turned red. The chickens were laying on a regular basis. Then kids came streaming out the door, neighborhood friends in tow, and the crisp autumn air filled with laughter.

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The next day I found myself in the kitchen. School was out. Pizza dough was rising. The boys were fishing. The girls were playing quietly. Pandora was serenading me from the computer. My hands were buried in a bowl of oats, butter, cinnamon and brown sugar when this song came on:

Indeed I was in heaven.

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Someday soon I hope to venture out again. But for now I'm quite content to rest my weary head in this house where pet fur abounds, the laundry multiplies like rabbits and the dishes follow suit. Today there is no place I'd rather be.