A homecoming

As I sit and write this, a mixture of familiarity and surrealism
invades my senses. Maybe it is lack of sleep and jetlag. Too tired
to unpack and pack, I sit among overflowing luggage and my twinkling
Christmas tree. I am glad I got home before February to get
decorations down before the end of January, suspecting there is some
superstition about leaving the tree up until February. This is my
home, yet, I feel a bit like I am visiting someone else's space.

It was a quiet homecoming, yet one with small blessings to let me
know I am where I should be. First, debarking the shuttle bus,
Cooper's enthusiastic smile greeted me. The final drive home was
marked by a chance for us to catch up. I didn't feel alone here.
Even on the bus I had another call inviting me to lunch.

As I stepped into the elevator I ran into my neighbor (a rare event)
who headed back upstairs as she had taken in my accumulated held mail
left outside my door. A simple neighborly act of kindness.

Rather than lunch, despite all good judgment considering the
pitifully few hours of sleep I had on top of the general stress of
travel on the body, I opted to meet Erica for a hike in Griffith
Park. The cool air stimulated my physical body as the conversation
did my mind. A perfect way to reunite with Los Angeles.

Now, it is quiet. Too quiet inside, as I listen to the hum of the
outside world. I miss my nightly scrabble game with my mother, but
she sounded good when we spoke. I am thankful to have a mother who
is as wise, when the really important questions arise, as The
Alchemist. "To realize one's destiny is a person's only
obligation." As my mother encourages me to go out to fulfill this
destiny, to go home without fear or worry for leaving her alone,
tears of a bit sorrow, but mostly gratitude, roll down my face.