Home Sweet Home

About a week before Mark and I got married, we spent (yet another) evening working toward settling in. He was already living in the home on Westmoreland Drive that we would share for the next 18 years, and we had spent the previous 6 months painting the kitchen, scrubbing walls in the other rooms, and replacing carpet. I had dozed off on the couch during a break, and woke up shocked to see the time was 2 am! I hustled out the door so my folks wouldn’t worry about me – but I feared it may have been too late.

I was determined to get home as quickly as I could, but just as determined not to be pulled over for speeding.  So my speedometer hovered at 55 most of the way. I was alone with overnight truckers on Highway 158 at that strange hour. That is, until a car came rushing up behind me. After some weird maneuvers, the driver turned on … his blue light. Great.

I found a safe place to pull over and waited for the deputy to approach. He was unable to give me a good reason for stopping me, but did ask all the usual questions. In my exhausted and startled state, I was not very clear in my answers.

“Ma’am, where are you coming from?”

“My house.”

“And where are you heading?”

“Home.”

“Excuse me?” I think he was getting ready to have me walk a straight line or something.  I proceeded to explain that I was getting married in a week, that I had spent time working on the new house, and was heading home to sleep. The deputy, mildly suspicious, weighed my words carefully and finally decided that this answer was plausible. He let me go.

A week later, Mark and I began our new life together. We called that house our home, but it took me quite a while to settle in to a new routine, a new route to work, a new role as lady of the house, in charge of meals and all. After a while, without my really noticing, that house became our happy home.

All these years later, I find myself in the same situation. Mark moved to Knoxville ahead of us, while I remained in Winston-Salem to tie up loose ends. I had a fixed moving date, but until then, Westmoreland Drive remained my home.

I am here now, trying to settle into a new routine, a new route to a new job. I’m still in charge of meals, but I have to get used to a new kitchen. But I trust that, without our really noticing, this place will soon feel very much like home.