Home

I firmly believe that home can be one of the most equally beautiful and hideous words in any language. It isn’t how the word sounds coming from the lips, even though tone does count for something. It’s what the word means to the one speaking and the one listening.

For some, home is a place to take refuge. For others, it is a place to take refuge from. There’s a reason that runaways do run away and reasons why expats write sonnets about their beloved homelands across the sea.

At the moment, home is a lovely word to me. It’s pregnant with the lush green Oregon grass and the sound of all my sisters laughing over a joke they’ve played on my younger brother. It’s the taste of wild blueberries fresh from the bush, blackberry cobbler still warm from the oven, and the dense carmel flavors of thousands of shots of espressos drizzling into shot glasses across the city. It’s the smell of fresh rain, renewal, and Saturday night pizza. The sound of my ancient cat and his rumbling purr. It’s fighting over Wii remotes with my younger brother and beating my older brother on video games. It’s trying to change the channel when my sister turns on the Laurence Welk Show. It’s my favorite food spots in the city with my girlfriends. It’s Wednesday nights with my house church. It’s Saturday nights downtown at Solid Rock. It’s calling my sister and her fiancee by their smashed up celebrity name. It’s cousin nights. It’s pounding on the grand piano and not caring who hears me make a mistake on my scales. It’s the Diamond Girls talking about life. It’s indie concerts and indie coffee houses. It’s animated discussions around the dinner table, texting during church to find out where my friends are sitting, and laughing loudly while stomping around downtown. It’s fresh crepes. It’s photo-scavenger hunts and afternoons in parks. It’s hiking up to the Gorge or the local forest. It’s sacking out on my parent’s leather couches. It’s camping out in my treefort, sunbathing on the back porch, and finishing up the last drop of milk. It’s all you can eat ice cream with my grandparents and ethnic food with my adventurous friends. It’s driving around the lake when I need to think something through, sitting in the rose gardens by the Frank House, and floating down the Deschutes River in the summer.

That’s what I’m looking forward to.

And that’s where I’ll be in less than 48 hours.

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Comments
2 Responses to “Home”
  1. Your home sounds amazing. đŸ™‚

    I can’t wait to see you and wish you safe travels!

  2. What a beautiful word picture of what home means to you. Can’t wait to see you and Nicole!

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