I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I haven’t been around lately. Since Rich’s birthday at the end of March, in fact. And it isn’t because I haven’t been making things, or I’ve been to busy to write anything, or any of that: I have a few dozen photos of at least 8 projects I’ve worked on, plus recipes and meals; I even wrote (on paper) an entire post. It’s more that what’s been on my mind for the past while, I wasn’t ready to fling out into the Great Interwebs for all to see.
The thing is, I am homesick. (Sorry, Mama. I’m not trying to make you cry.) Homesick with a capital H. When we first moved, it was a grand adventure; everything was distractingly different and charmingly new. But a couple of months ago, it came down on me like a wall. That was a nice adventure, okay, and now let’s go home.
It probably has something to do with spring in Florida being my very favorite season, and spring in Michigan being, well, gray. And muddy. And cold. Florida spring isn’t too hot yet, just warm and balmy and less humid. There are orange blossoms (and if you’ve never smelled orange blossoms before, you haven’t really lived) and new leaves and so much sun.
It probably also has a big something to do with Florida containing roundabout 99 percent of my family. My family is pretty fantastic, if you haven’t met them. I just tried to write lots more about them, but these little typed words sound so flat and cliche. So I’ll just leave it at ‘fantastic’.
I actually began this post with every intention of writing something insightful or reflective about homesickness, but the words are still jammed up.
I think I’ll end with this:
You need a village, if only for the pleasure of leaving it. A village means that you are not alone, knowing that in the people, the trees, the earth, there is something that belongs to you, waiting for you when you are not there.