It’s good to be home

Today I love waking up at home after a three day adventure in the big city. I love that three days ago I had never heard of the PATH and now I am an evangelist for its virtues and its character. I love that I was able to traverse a large part of the city by PATH and find my way to many things that were spectacular or enchanting or even emotional for me. I love that I found my way to Union Station from my hotel without going outside, that the last time I was there was to get on a train to visit my grandfather, that the times before that were to collect him from the train when he came to visit us, and that when I arrived there yesterday I went up into the Great Hall and there he was in the shadows of my memories. I love that the instant I stepped outside of the station into the warming April air, the first smell that hit me was the smell of a pipe being smoked with what I swear was his tobacco. I love that, to complete the illusion of his presence, there wasn’t a soul to be seen anywhere around that was smoking a pipe. I love that for all I know it might have been him, telling me he knew I’d come to visit.

Today I love that my bed is the cure for sleeping on hotel beds, that this kitchen is the cure for restaurant food, that this recliner is the cure for hotel furniture. I love that,¬†as I’ve said before, home is not just where the heart is, it is where the soul, when asked, will tell you that it longs to be. I love that this little city is my home. I love cooking my own breakfast. I love that the world’s perfect timing of seasons and weather meant that on rising and cooking this morning, we got to eat outside, and then got to tour the gardens and yard to see what was growing and what needed doing before we came in and settled in to watch the rain as it exploded out of the sky. I love that the rain’s coming was announced by the thunder and its entrance was lit by lightning.

Today I love the little flowers that are blooming in the lawn, it may have been all grass at one time, but it is joyously, if slowly, regaining biodiversity and that is a good thing. I love olives in my omelette, maybe less of them next time though. I love that all I brought home from Toronto were memories, that I didn’t buy a single thing other than services and food. I love being home in this place with all the guitars and pianos. I love that there was music being played while breakfast was being cooked.

Today I love coffee at home among all the guitars.