I had planned to shut these pages down while I was on vacation, and in a sense they are shut down, I certainly won’t be posting as often as normal. That is, after all, part of the point of being on vacation, but every so often something still alights in my mind that’s worth writing about.
When you work a job like mine, your relationship with “home” becomes complicated. Home becomes an abstract, as they say in Paint Your Wagon “Home is made for coming from, for dreams of going to”…my home port, will always *be* home, but at the same time, each time i return here, it becomes more distant from me, I feel more and more like a visitor each time. The farther I travel, the smaller this city sometimes feels. But I love home, I still *need* it, I need to know it’s there…
I was sitting on the front porch yesterday, staring out at the ocean I had looked at all my life (see, ever since i was a child, my life, my lover my lady – has always been the Sea) – thinking that when I was a child, that bay *was* the ocean, logically I knew it was bigger, but when you’re child, you have no comprehension how big the world really is. Anyway, I was trying to untangle my complex relationship with “home”…
And it came to me, in the form of a quote as it so often does, from Buffy,as my quotes so often are…
Home is my kite-string.
Or more importantly, the people *here* (and those people all know who they are, and there really aren’t that many of them), are my kite-strings..
It’s there, I need it, I need that anchor, the knowledge that no matter where I go in the world, home-port is still there, that, I “can just drift around up there, and [they’ll] make sure I don’t float away”…
No matter how old I get, or where I go…I’m always grateful for that kite-string.
I am very happy that you have decided to continue. You have a wonderful way of expressing yourself….