I feel like there is an 8 or 9 year old girl, skipping inside me, singing.
"I'm home, I'm home, I'm home, I'm home!"
I knew it would be good to be back, good for my family to come home to Seattle. Good to leave San Diego, which just wasn't right for us.
But I honestly had no idea I'd be so HAPPY to be back here. Back in Seattle, cold & wet & all.
Every moment, every omen has been rich with blessing. Our families and friends opened arms and homes and hearts to us. We landed at our mid-wife's home, and slept under skylights that looked up at the stars. And then, almost immediately, we found our home.
A beautiful little house, on south Beacon Hill, with a great big yard just waiting for our gardens. I sit, right now, in my office, my own tiny office at the front of the house, with two huge windows and one little port-hole that all look out on trees and sky - I feel like I'm in a little boat. Especially today, a rainy old day.
Other signs of homecoming: my husband going right back to work. Me getting calls for part-time, contract work, for vocal coaching and grant-writing and teaching. Finn playing with friends and family.
And now, after a few weeks here, our house becomes our home, with furniture coming in, gifts from friends and Goodwill treasures, boxes getting unpacked for the first time in nearly two years - boxes we never even managed to open in California.
And even deeper, richer signs of homecoming on another level - I have been writing.
I have been writing.
I have been writing, for myself, for reading aloud, for others to read, just beginning to stretch muscles that have been dormant and quiet for so long. I have a novel starting. I have a new performance piece. Wanna hear part of it? It's about mom-ing. I actually just posted it on Facebook, and realized it belongs in a piece. I'm gonna post it here, right after this one.
Two posts in one day. Makes up for three weeks away.