When is your home not your home? For me, it's when the place where we hung our hats for 25+ years becomes the place where we are now homeless. We've driven by 505 S. Roberts - it looks familiar, but it's no longer ours. And that's ok. A young family again lives there. It's as it was meant to be. My flowers look pretty great, though!
And we're not homeless, as on the street, of course. We have dear and gracious friends who have opened their home to us. But this is their home, not ours. I'm feeling a bit adrift at the moment. There's a delicate balance between being guests and smelly 3-day-old fish. I'm feeling a bit fishy now. Susan and Kevin have made us so welcome here and they're not even in town right now. We've settled in very comfortably and yet it feels like time to keep moving so our welcome stays intact.
Sunday afternoon has never been my favorite time. I'm very inclined to obstinate, persistent introspection on that day. Some call it obsessiveness. So maybe after some fresh air at a picnic and then a silly movie, the fish smell will blow off. And tomorrow is Monday. I'll be just too busy for all that thinking . . .
