What does your stomach know?
December 19, 2017

the tree for the blogFor almost a quarter of a century I’ve lived in the same small town. And every single time I’ve returned “home” to it -- whether after a few hours or even a few weeks -- I’ve gotten this sick feeling in my stomach.

It’s a lovely area. It just doesn’t feel like home. Never has. Not once. Katie understands. She affectionately calls this little corner of the planet “death.” The first time she said it I thought, “That about sums it up.”

Would you like me to tell you it’s a lovely area again? And people! There are some lovely, lovely people here. But you know where you feel at home, don’t you? And at least as importantly, where you don’t.

Yes, I moved here on purpose. It was going to be for a year, two at the most. Then I met Darrell. Then we had Katie. Before I knew it? Well, I just told you.

Now what? We’re figuring that out. We want to be within a short drive -- or hop on a train -- from Kate. If we lived across the street from her we’d never get any work done, the three of us. We’d spend every spare minute watching basketball and playing cards and collapsing in more laughter over more silly.

Being able to look forward to that over another long weekend on a moment’s notice? Yep. Home, I now realize, is where the (sweet)heart is.