How old-married-woman is this: I like coming home from traveling almost as much as leaving. I do. We flew home Saturday, pleased to find that a flight from Amsterdam was not leaving a wake of jetlag. Instead, it was too warm for coats, and we pushed open our garden gate to a space of rainbows of blossoms. Bonnie Scotland.
It felt good to shoo out the stagnancy of an empty home and just be. In the past two weeks, we checked into hotels 7 different times. Being in one place, our place, felt luxurious in its simplicity. Walker, always one to break things down, taught me there is a difference between travel (where you learn) and vacation (where you relax). This had bits of both. Expansion and rest.
Junior high may have won me dorky awards, but one thing I learned (and then dropped) was how to scrapbook (Creative Memories memories, anyone?). Cardinal Rule of Scrapbooking: start out with recent photos and work backwards; freshest memories are easier to reproduce. So, for now, let me break down Saturday, at home, because that relief of stepping into our quiet and cool sanctuary is an instant to be savoured.
This coming back after being away is tagged along by the refreshing sense of seeing anew. There are new shops in town, leaves have been cleaned from our wynd and garden, the beach had thousands of visitors with kites and dogs, and our garden had up and partied on us.