Home Bittersweet Home

            It's great to go home and recoup from the city now and then. Of course, whenever I go home for a weekend I always manage to put on at least 2lbs, but as soon as I get back to the city and my body gets shocked out of it's cathartic state of being and into the regular routine, those 2lbs quickly melt away like butter. I once heard a monologue in a movie years ago that always stayed with me. It went somewhere along the lines of describing what the sensation of home was like once you left the nest. Once you take that step and leave home, weather it's to go to college, get married and move in with your spouse or you leave just because you can, that home that you grew up in or that place where your family lives, will never feel like your home again. It will always seem like you are a guest there, even if you move back in for whatever reason. It's as if you cut yourself from the umbilical cord of that world as you knew it and you can try to tie yourself back to the other end and crawl back into the womb, but once you're out, you're out. That's the second the world starts to look like a scary place. Beautiful and exciting yes, but even if you're surrounded by people who care about you and nothing is going badly, all of that seems conditional, drifting in a different directions as time goes on, and can be snatched away in a heartbeat. This is what going home reminds me of, the delicacy of life.

            This time, the reason I trekked the 150 miles speeding down Interstate 95, was to celebrate my niece's 1st birthday, my brother Jason's 29th and my mother's homecoming from a month long trip to Portugal. It's a triple-decker celebration and the whole family is together for the first time in nearly two years. One of us is usually MIA, and normally it's Jason. If Virginia based, Navy boy, Jason is not out to sea for months at a time then his wife is and he has to be sole guardian of his rambunctious four year-old-son who could quite possibly be a prodigy to anything he wanted to do in life. Too smart, for his own good, that little brat. Just kidding nephew. I love you.

            I adore the apartment my parents now live in. It's a quaint little two bedroom on the second floor that has access to a large pool, a modern gym, (that I hardly ever take advantage of, in fact I don't think they ever do either) a wreck room with a pool table and fireplace, and my favorite... a balcony facing a gorgeous cherry blossom tree that canopy's over the balustrade. Of course, now the blossoms have all gone with the wind, but it's still a sight to see. Nothing like sipping a cup of joe with my pops as we look out towards the horizon and the two dozen stray cats looking up at us. Back at my apartment the only view I get to see is a red brick wall from a rickety fire escape coated with pigeon poop. However, it's mine and mine alone.

            This morning I was expecting to walk into a mob of chaos with children and barking dogs everywhere, but they all stayed at my youngest brothers house last night and I was left to splendor there in the calm before the storm, which I'm sure is to come. I can't wait. I told my un-tech savvy father about the blogs I started today and he sat himself down at the kitchen table deciding to read them in that very moment. I sat on pins and needles next to him trying to resist the urge to hover as I began my next one. In one sitting he read all eight of my previous blogs and before I knew it, he was done and chuckling with approval. Wooh, I don't know what I would've done if he told me that I sucked and should never write another word as long as I live. You probably wouldn't be reading this very blog. Thank my father kids.