About the comfort of home

Seeing the pine trees, water, and mountains means a great deal to me at our little home.

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about the comfort of home.

Like: Why do I get so annoyed when I have to go anywhere?

Recently, I scheduled a haircut. By the time it rolled around, I was dreading the hours I would be away.

I don’t think I’m agoraphobic or anything like that. However, if I was, there’s nothing wrong with that and my physician knows I’m not afraid to seek pharmaceutical help for anxiety. (When I was diagnosed with cancer, Xanax was the first real lifesaver on that long, strange trip.)

Back to home. This is the time of year most people pack up their families and head out of town, out of state, out of country. Photos from the trips I’m seeing on social media look so dreamy that I’m almost jealous.

Almost.

It’s been years since The Weed and I did any serious traveling. That trip to Greece was more cathartic and memorable than I ever thought it could be.

We were traveling with our friend, Stephen, who had just been diagnosed with ALS. Throughout the trip, he remarked about how it was likely his last time to drink ouzo or swim in the Aegean. Unfortunately, it was. He died a short year later.

I know he was happy during that trip and that helps me forgive him for swiping my iPhone charging cord and other habits I also remember him for. He’d be OK with my saying that. He knew just what buttons to push, and he really, really enjoyed doing it.

Traveling is funny like that. Having been on group tours and solo outings, I’ve come to realize and appreciate the camaraderie that is built among people traveling into the unknown together.

My friend, Tracey, recently asked me why I thought the world is so polarized these days and why social issues are so difficult to find solutions for.

Like most people, I could only shrug my shoulders and say I didn’t have the answer. I did suggest, however, that I think people need to travel more. People need to see how others live. See what others eat. Listen to their music. Swim in their waters. Drink their wine.

And, that’s what’s so vexing to me about my recent bout of needing, longing to be only at home.

I love to travel. I love to experience new things.

My first sip of hot, black coffee was in Jamaica. Blue Mountain coffee at the breakfast table is enough to turn the caffeine uninitiated into a true believer. I was not worthy!

My first taste of stringy, gooey fondue was in France. The Weed and I were bold enough to tell our waiter we didn’t drink white wine and we needed a special cheese blend that paired well with red wine. Ugly Americans!

My first and likely only opportunity to row a Viking ship was in Denmark. I was terrible at it and likely endangered the whole group. The captain even yelled at me in Danish and then in English and then mumbled beneath his breath something about changing careers.

The Weed and I have been blessed to see new things and have crazy adventures while traveling. That said, I sure do love the comfort of our home.

Watching rain drops land along the creek.

Catching the morning light snaking through the front window.

Seeing an osprey hunt on the pond.

Listening to the dogs snoozing at my feet while I drink second-rate American coffee on the patio.

These are the things I miss most when I leave our place.

Still, I know when I step away, I likely will see or be challenged by something new.

Exhibit A: Yesterday, during a dreaded trip to the grocery store, the owner of new Tesla Cybertruck parked next to me. When I walked out of the store and saw the over-styled Tonka truck next to my beloved “Betty,” all I could do was laugh and take some silly photos.

Dear Elon: What fresh hell is this?

Exhibit B: I recently went to Home Depot to buy some seasonal flowers. As I wheeled the purchases back to my car, a young man approached me and took hold of my cart. He asked where I was parked. We got to my car, and he started loading everything into it. He didn’t ask for money. He simply wanted to know if he could help me. He and his two brothers, also helping with the flowers, had arrived in Colorado after walking from Venezuela. They were hoping to find gardening work.

I have no idea if their story was true. It touched me, though. I can’t imagine the courage it must take to walk away and be that far from home. I gave them $20 and wished them well.

Then, I drove back to our little gray house along Meadow Glen Drive.

Safe. Happy. Home.