"Home"

One of the many birdbaths in my parents' yard.

The last two weeks were both fun and exhausting.  Five nights in Vermont; two at a campground in MA; three in Philly; three at a lake cottage in MI; two more nights at my parents' house in Michigan.  Eleven states, six airports, five flights, three host families (if you include my own), six baseball games--one in person, two band concerts, and one long-ass layover in Atlanta, which still feels like home.

Tom not only built the fire,
he took this picture of it.

I went camping for the first time.  I mean, I was a girl scout, but we always went camping in cabins, and usually all we did was watch Lisa's mom try to start a fire, and the other moms cook the food most of the way on a stove and then carry it out to the fire once it was finally lit.  Every now and then Lisa's mom would look around and point to six or eight of us in a row: "Touching your face, go wash your hands.  Playing with your hair, go wash your hands.  Hands on your hips, go wash your hands."  We kept our hands clean on our camping trips.

Crossing the George Washington Bridge

***There was one memorable winter camping trip where I really learned about myself--the difference between me and the other girls.  We had a toboggan and everyone was taking turns sliding down a hill.  There was a long wait while the toboggan sailed down, and a longer wait while the three girls carried it back up.  I finally clambered on with Lisa, the scout leader's bossy, "my mom is in charge so you do what I say" kid, and her spoiled friend Kristi.  I had to be in the back, because I was the biggest.  I was always the biggest kid--tall, which didn't mean "fat" but it meant everyone thought I was fat because I weighed more.  Or at least I thought I was fat.  Anyway.  We sailed down the hill, Lisa and Kristi screeching the entire way.  Toward the bottom, as the toboggan was slowing down, we suddenly swooped to one side and hit a tree.  All three of us toppled sideways into the snow.

Super-tall mums on the campus of
Ursinus College in PA.

I picked myself up out of the snow and laughed.  Lisa and Kristi lay in the snow and continued their incessant, hysterical shrieking.  They seemed ok until their mothers and everyone else came galloping down the hill and fussed over them, at which point they claimed they could not walk, and sat on the toboggan sobbing pitifully while the rest of us dragged them up that hill and back to the cabin.  Now, maybe they *couldn't* walk--maybe they really were hurt--but they weren't so hurt that they couldn't march around the place later, bossing us in whatever games we played the rest of the day and running to be first in line for some half-burned, half-raw pineapple upside-down cake.

Amazing shoo fly pie.

What I remember most was the disgusted look on Lisa's mom's face when I stood up, unhurt.  She really glared at me, and the rest of the troop didn't seem to like me much, either.  I was used to being glared at by adults; I was a little smarty-pants, and a clown to boot.  A deadly combination of trying to seem smart and also being disruptive.  In any case, I spent the rest of the weekend keeping my head down, staying in the back of the hand-washing crowd, and looking forward to quitting scouts as soon as possible.***

Water skier on Vineyard Lake, MI.

So.  Real camping for the first time.  Mostly I kept my head down and stayed out of Tom's way as he put up the tents, built the fire, cooked everything, and did pretty much everything.  The first night, I tossed around a little on top of a very flat air mattress, so we went and got a new one; the second night, I slept like a damn baby.  I spent a long time outside.  It really does feel different to be outside ALL the time.  I think I liked it, though I won't be packing up my Scion to go Texas camping anytime soon.

Happy goose on Vineyard Lake.

After that, Tom dropped me off for a few days' stay at my friend Forbes's house near Philly.  I took lots of pictures and caught up on sleep; I ate incredible brisket and potato salad and macaroni and cheese and shoo fly pie.  Forbes put me on a plane to Detroit, where I met my parents and spent a few days at the lake cottage they get every summer.  We watched the Tigers every night; I read a ton and worked on the quilt that I haven't had time even to look at in the past six months.  I helped them move back to the house at the end of the week, and we went to a Toledo Mud Hens game.  I'm a minor league baseball fan, and the Mud Hens are my favorite.

Hummingbird at Mom + Dad's.

I intentionally scheduled a seven-hour layover in Atlanta.  I have a friend who's had a lot of changes to go through in the last six months, like me, and somewhere in there, our friendship lost focus.  We haven't talked at all since I left Georgia.  I bought gifts for him and his pets while I was traveling, I let him know when I would be there, I flew to Atlanta and hiked to the airport's atrium, and I waited.  He didn't come.  It sucks, but I've done everything I can do.

When I'm flying, someone always asks if I'm "coming or going"--leaving home or on the way home.  On that flight from Michigan to Georgia, I didn't know what to say.  I'm flying to "home," but then I'm getting on a plane to fly to where I live.  I was gone from Texas longer than I've lived in Texas.  Confusing.

So now I live in Texas.