While enjoying the pool today and then drying in the warm Arizona sun, I took one look at my hands and said “yep, it’s time to go home.” After too much sun, I get a reaction that brings out the most unattractive wart-like bumps, thankfully, just on my hands. Not blisters, but every bit as ugly. And I’ve always said, when you start to look like the native species, it’s time to pack it up. So tomorrow, my lizard-looking hands will grab the steering wheel and begin the trek back to Michigan.
In true fashion, we will not take the direct route back, but instead, will visit several sights along the way. By the time we pull into Lansing, I’ll be more than ready to park the car awhile.
What is it about going home that is so enticing? Is it the sense of familiarity? The welcome relief of routine? The opportunity to put the GPS away? Maybe the desire to suspend adventure and discovery?
Yes, that’s huge for me. The learning that happens with travel is nice but sometimes, I yearn for my favorite easy chair that has molded to my body over time. And to shop in my favorite market, and cook in my stocked-just-for- me-kitchen. And did I mention sleeping in my own bed!!!
I have enjoyed the last several weeks, but I’ve missed my Tuesday lunch and movie friends. And my twice a month volunteer group. And my church connections. Now that the weather is cooperating, I’ll look forward to waving to neighbors on my walks.
I will always love Arizona. Despite the constant dust, multiple applications of industrial strength body lotion every day, six lane traffic, and tree blooms that trigger my allergies.
It’s given me free concerts every Sunday night that have called me to the dance floor, a walking pool that beckons me several times a week, a dry heat and well insulated home that doesn’t require air conditioning even when it’s in the upper 90’s, and line dancing Tuesdays and Thursdays. How I love that.
Twice, nearby cowboy-town Wickenburg has invited me to expand my cowgirl fantasies. Mesa provided concerts that made the hour plus drive worthwhile, especially the Boston Pops. Scottsdale has the Music Instrument Museum and I know more about zithers and lutes than I thought possible.
But none of that replaces home. Just can’t beat it and I’m ready. I’ll report when we get back with tales of the trip. See you in a week or so.