Home is Where Your Heart Is

I received a text message from Paul yesterday that said, "I miss home".
This is typically not a statement I hear from Paul...in fact, I'm not sure he's EVER said he's missed a place other than where his kids and wife are.
I texted him back and said, "Home as in Ca.? Me too!!"
Later that day when he was driving home from work, he called me and I asked him, "What "home" did you mean that you missed?" It was indeed California. And then he went on to say that it was the familiarity of a place he missed most. Driving up the I-5 corridor, coming into Red Bluff and knowing Redding is just up and over the hills, recognizing everything around you and knowing you are coming back to a place where you grew up, where your family is, where your roots are, where your memories first started, where you know how to get just about anywhere.
His comment really struck me because I have been struggling a lot lately with just being in yet another new place...with another new job...more new faces...everything being unfamiliar. I think we take for granted the comfort and safety that comes along with just being somewhere we feel we belong; a place that we know almost inside out.

This reminded me of a poem I wrote years ago...some of you may be familiar with it, but I thought it would be a good time to share it again. It was written as Paul, me, and the kids were making a trip from Sacramento back up to Redding one day.

North on I-5

The clouds you hold in your blue-tinted hair
run smoky black and indigo, bruising
your canvas with their unpredictable power

Your eyes reflected in the spaciousness
of this pregnant land, spotted calico
with the green of oak leaf full in nourishment,
the burnt orange of a fading sun,
and richness of your vibrant earth

Bright lights travel in growing darkness
a constant, streaming symbol of hope
permanently imprinted upon your face.
Always alive, you are the pathway run ancient
between my childhood and my future.

I know you well; I hate you...I love you.