There’s no place like home, they say. It’s true. I housesat recently in a fabulous house – three times the size of mine, beautifully decorated, loads of old house character. But I couldn’t wait to get home to my snug little house. It’s where my stuff is (not the least of which my comfy bed) and where the essence of “me” is. Brian and I have moved a few times in our marriage, but we quickly nest in our homes and make them our own.
I love and live for travel. Nohing excites me like a new country, or a return visit to a favorite place. I’m at my happiest when planning a trip (or two). But when we’re not traipsing around Europe you can usually find us at home. I just like being in my house with Brian and our pup. We love Saturday nights with a Papa Murphy’s pizza and a stack of movies. Hopelessly boring to many, but joy to us. Maybe that’s because Brian travels so much … when he is home we have the need to reestablish ourselves as afamily in a home. Who knows. And the closer we get to a trip the more we’d rather spend our money at a bistro in Paris than in Kentucky.
I find these two sides of my personality a little odd — I am in my element wandering a medieval city in Europe, or on my couch reading a novel. The key to these facets living happily together must be balance. I’m content reading my novel because in the back of my mind I know in 33 days I’m headed to London, Paris and Normandy. And I’m happy sleepign in strange beds andexhausting myself in Europe because I know my lovely fluffy bed and doggie await me at home. My home.