Home Again, Home Again Jiggity Jig
I left Indiana yesterday with "Home or Bust" inscribed in the dust on my bumper. Drove 80 most of the way. And after I came to Springfield, even 80 mph felt like I was just NEVER gonna get home!
Mmmm, home.
Dad kept calling for my "20" so he knew when to put in the sweet corn. Mile markers went by ever so slowly, like old men that are out for a Sunday drive. Frustrating how we must exist in time and space, isn't it! Ha ha.
Well, I finally got to my exit at 5:49. I roared up the drive at 5:51. Mom and Dad were at the kitchen window, waving. Sadie was jumping up and down and up and down and up and down...ok, so as far as I know she's still jumping. And as insufficient as the phrase is, I said it and meant every word:
"It's good to be home."
Maybe the phrase isn't so insufficient. I mean, God created the universe, and then looking at what had been made, he rested and called it good. Maybe good is an exaggeration then, eh?
Next time, I'll just say, "I am overwhelmed with warm, anticipatory felicity at the experience of crossing my own threshold and hurridly emptying my arms of suitcases in my own rooms so I can hug you, Mom."
Nah.
It's good to be home.
Mmmm, home.
Dad kept calling for my "20" so he knew when to put in the sweet corn. Mile markers went by ever so slowly, like old men that are out for a Sunday drive. Frustrating how we must exist in time and space, isn't it! Ha ha.
Well, I finally got to my exit at 5:49. I roared up the drive at 5:51. Mom and Dad were at the kitchen window, waving. Sadie was jumping up and down and up and down and up and down...ok, so as far as I know she's still jumping. And as insufficient as the phrase is, I said it and meant every word:
"It's good to be home."
Maybe the phrase isn't so insufficient. I mean, God created the universe, and then looking at what had been made, he rested and called it good. Maybe good is an exaggeration then, eh?
Next time, I'll just say, "I am overwhelmed with warm, anticipatory felicity at the experience of crossing my own threshold and hurridly emptying my arms of suitcases in my own rooms so I can hug you, Mom."
Nah.
It's good to be home.
posted by The Mentors | 9:34 AM
2 Comments:
Where on earth did you learn to write like that, and when do you find the time to write like that. Oh, I just remembered, your our daughter. Like a miniature tornado, you come spinning back into our lives, only to careen away again. We love you for that, or in spite of that, and hope your journeys keep bringing you by our door. Until parousia, Love Mom
By the way, for any random people who happen on this site who don't know greek, parousia means "Second Coming." Mom heard it in bible study with Randy Mogler...at least, i think it was Randy Mogler, this week. So her farewell means, until Jesus comes, Mom. She exaggerates. I do come home....sometimes. And She was just itching to stump me on that word. I said it was the Holy Spirit, BZZZ--WRONG! That's Parakletos, the Comforter. Blah Blah Blah. man I'm a mouthpiece.
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