Woot! I’m home. I’m cuddling with my puppy who has had a WONDERFUL time staying with her grandmother, but MIGHT have missed me like I missed her.
I love to travel, but I don’t like leaving my stuff behind. I think this is why I like driving trips–because I can bring more of my STUFF. This is a trend that has gotten worse over the years. I’m not sure if it’s a product of my getting older, or just having more stuff. Because I don’t mind leaving home. But I miss my stuff. My chair, my brand of tea, my brew of coffee, my brand of detergent… (I am, needless to say, not one of those people who can use whatever shampoo/soap/lotion they have at the hotel.)
So I was eager to get back home. All the same, I hate leaving people. I get this weird sinking sad nostalgia–I always have, ever since I was a kid. I would always cry when it was time to leave a fond place, even when I knew we’d be back eventually–the ranch, my grandmother’s house, wherever. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to go home (because I’ve *always* been fond of my stuff). But there’s always that weird feeling that it’s going to change while you’re gone, when you really want to keep everything in that magical stasis.
Question of the day: Did you guys have a favorite family vacation spot that you went back to on an annual, or at least regular, basis? We would go down to the ranch in Refugio county (where I ended up living, eventually), but we’d stay in Port Lavaca and go down to the beach at Port Aransas. Mr. RCM used to go to Red River with his family. What about you guys?