Feel-Good Friday: The Familylovehome Edition
Home is wherever I’m with you (plural)(and singular)
Back from vacation and happy to be home but in some ways vacation was home, so I have been thinking a lot about family and love and home—namely the many multiple meanings and permutations of each—quite a bit these days and this morning.
So you may or may not know but I have two sisters, one older and one younger, which makes me Jan Brady minus both the Bunch and the housekeeper named Alice. The older one and I are 14 months apart, the younger one and I four years apart. My younger sis lives a mile from me and has my two nephews and one niece, ages 23, 22, and 20. My older sis lives in a suburb of Detroit, MI and has my other two nieces, ages 17 (18 in a few weeks) and just-turned 16. I was on vacation with the MI crew (minus their dad and plus my mom) and after a great week when I said my goodbyes to them on Saturday night there were some tight hugs and some big tears.
That sad goodbye got me thinking…having one sis and her family nearby has created a certain kind of closeness between all of us that comes with frequency and proximity and convenience. Admittedly that’s changing as the “kids” grow up and fly the coop, but still all those hours around the dinner table and at the athletic fields and everywhere else around town definitely bred a certain special kind of permanent closeness, current life circumstances notwithstanding. So you might think having two nieces (and their parents of course) in the Midwest results in a less close relationship among us…but you’d be wrong in that thinking. Through a little hard work and a lot of easy love we have created a different kind of closeness, one that defies distance and space and relies on ritual and tradition. The annual trip to FL is one such tradition we have—we go for walks and for coffee and to dinner at The Crazy Flamingo and shopping at the Jetset Surf Shop and out cruising around (on this trip notably to the highest point on Marco Island, at a whopping 51 feet above sea level!). We spend lots of long afternoons at the beach, often staying for sunset, looking for the elusive “green flash” and waiting for the sky to catch fire. And we laugh. Do we ever laugh.
We reminisce about years and escapades past, we talk about (and actively miss) my dad, and we make plenty of new memories. Having this stretch of time together where we get to fully experience each other with little distraction is the best possible way for us to strengthen our bonds. And as they get older and we talk about different things, we get to know each other better and differently as humans—they never cease amaze me.
There was some petty annoyance going on one day at the beach and when I uttered my annoyance and the nature of it, the older one patted my arm and said, “Oh Nicky, sometimes I think we’re the same person.” After giving her my condolences (I pity the fool who is like me), I accepted the ultimate compliment and noted how awesome it is for her to associate me so closely with how she processes the world. (And in general she gets bonus points for her great taste in music—notably playing “Girls Just wanna Have Fun” while we were summitting the 51-foot elevation bump.)
Of course, being in FL for two weeks meant not being with Kerri for two weeks. And (also of course), I missed her. Everyone did…everyone likes her more than they like me (myself included). (Because she’s awesome.) It pained us watching her set off the security camera snowblowing at 10PM while we played a rollicking game of Nertz and “complained” about the heat (well, we didn’t complain about the heat as much as my mother’s idea of turning the air conditioning on). But at the same time missing Kerri didn’t take away from my fun, because in many ways when I was in FL I was home, with my mom and sis and my nieces and two aunts and two uncles. So I layered the notion of “home” onto my thinking about “closeness” and remembered that home isn’t a place. It’s people. Or a person. Or both.
And that line of thinking got me to thinking more, namely about the fact that my life has so many amazingly awesome people in it whom I love with my whole heart (albeit in different ways). Remarkably, though, no matter how full of love my heart is, there’s always room for more. The heart is a small but remarkable organ that somehow manages to make miracles on the fly, expanding and contracting as needed, often concentrating the love it holds to make room for more, ultimately keeping my heart feeling perpetually full. I know that’s not the case for everyone, and knowing this makes me feel exceptionally blessed (thank you, Universe!). (That said, I am happy to give love at any time to anyone whose heart can use a refill. Hit me up if you need some.)
I was all in on every moment in FL. And as I’ve said, I was so sad when the MI crew left. I hate not knowing when I am going to see them next and this was the last of this particular version of the February girls’ trips (college calls the older niece). But when I left FL myself three days later, I was sadhappy. Sad to leave that home, to leave my mom—I love her so much, and she’s not getting younger (“time is marching on” she reminded me when we were together (“zip it, mom,” I thought)), but happy because in a matter of time Kerri would pull up to the curb at Terminal A…and I knew that the minute I laid eyes on her, I’d be back in my forever home. I guess it just hit me different this trip, how lucky I am to have so many “homes.”
While leaving one home is always bittersweet, if you keep things more sweet than bitter, you ensure that there are plenty of rooms for your love to live in, and plenty of vacancy in your heart to take on new tenants.
In the 32 hours since I have been back, I’ve been re-acclimating to life at my primary (and physical) home. Caught up on laundry. Worked a day (two thumbs down; do not recommend!). Enjoyed morning coffee on the couch with Kerri. Accepted a dinner invitation for tonight from my sister up the street. And I have been celebrating small victories like not gaining weight on vaca, going to the gym (and not dying) a mere 12 hours after getting home, and it being light at 5:56 last night when I looked out the window and made note of it.
Bottom line? Lots of good stuff wherever and with whomever home is.
So to you (plural), I say this: collectively you are my home. In sub-groups and individually, you are my home. (See? It really does take a village. And home is where the heart is.)
Let’s wrap things up with several “home” songs (probably shoulda just made a playlist) for you (plural) and for you (singular, my one true home) to cover a variety of musical tastes and sentiments…but before you get listening, please accept a million thanks from me to you for being here…love you too (!):
Have a great weekend! See you Monday.
Wait…before I go…this one’s an all-time classic “home” song, without “home” in the title. Two versions, because you know I love a good cover (and if you happen to be a cover-song loving folk-y at heart, Shawn Colvin’s 1994 Cover Girl is a must-listen. I plan to play it today, and also suspect I’ll be going down a Naive Melody cover song rabbit hole.):
Repeat: love you too!
Love it…glad you’re home!
Loved this.