Home. The meaning changes.

This morning while driving to work, I listened to Marc Broussard’s song "Home". It is upbeat and he has a great voice. I was thinking about what home means to me and how that has changed over the years. Home used to be Southern California. When I first moved to San Jose to attend college, I remember being so excitement about returning to my parent’s home in Alhambra. There was the sense of anticipation and well-being of seeing my mom and catching up with her. Now Northern California is my home. But home can be a past experience or a new place, for me that includes my garden, being in the arms of my husband, having friends at my table laughing about things, sitting with a cocktail in the backyard with Betty listening to the fountain, or the familiarity of my local farmer’s market and restaurants I frequent.

What kind of places are home to you now?

It was cold today for California. My truck had ice on the windshield. I scraped most of it off, leaving my windows foggy. After driving a few blocks, I pulled over and wiped my windows again. I pulled in front of a house that had four Christmas trees in the gutter waiting for garbage pickup. They were fresh tress and all of them over six feet tall. Four Christmas trees? Imagine how festive their home was? How many ornaments do they have? I could almost smell the fragrance of these four trees in their home. Kind of cozy making. And with that the holiday season ends.