I walked into the house that I spent a good chunk of my formative years in last night, and even in its ever-changing state - my parents are in the middle of a long process of renovation - I instantly, more than instantly even, felt at peace. This place is where my heart is. I talk to my mom a few times a day, and each conversation is so much more than a simple chat between a mother and daughter - it's a trip home by phone. I love hearing the echo of her voice against the new wood floors, and the clack-clack-clack of our lab Toby's nails as he lazes down the hall. I call home everyday as much to hear the oven timer beep, and my brothers yelling in celebration of a hockey goal, as I do to share the day's pertinent details with my mom.
I hope everyone has a place like this. And I eagerly await the day, years and years from now, when my phone rings, the other line holding my little girl, waiting to - if only for just a few moments, across miles and miles of wire and static - come home.
