Home

It's been a week, and I am slowly transitioning from vacation mode back to the grind of everyday regular person life.  Dean and I spent a glorious week in New Orleans (well, actually the majority of it was in Mandeville, which is across the lake from the city, but hey, close enough).  We dined on seafood, lay by the pool for hours each day as the heat and humidity hung in the high 80's, took a swamp tour and watched our guide feed hot dogs to the alligators that swam up to our boat, and enjoyed spending time with Dean's family.  I never worried about what time it was because I had no appointments to keep, and I never worried about what day it was because my schedule was wide open.  I answered zero emails, finally managed to stay up past midnight, finally managed to sleep in past 7 a.m., and ditched working out and counting calories.  I have to say I felt much less neurotic, and yet somewhat out of sorts because I am so used to having a million things to do in any given day.

It's amazing how quickly you can get used to being in a new place, and how the longer you're there the more foreign and far-away home can really feel.  This concept of "home" can be forever changing in a person's life, as one moves from place to place, experiences new situations and makes brand new connections.  But for some of us, home really doesn't change. 

As Dean and I were driving back to Pullman, I took in the sight of the sun shining down on the endless acres of wheat fields, old barns with the Cougar logo prominently displayed on their fronts, and cows, sheep and horses roaming in pastures and pens.  

Sometimes the feeling of returning to a place can be even more sweet than the anticipation of leaving. 

That is the feeling of coming home.