If I were to open my heart I’d say a lot of things right now. Things like, “It’s Friday, folks. Hip hip hooray!”
Only it’s raining. And I volunteered to pick up trash tomorrow — in the rain. Ohhh, goodie.
Put your money where your mouth is.
No, really. It won’t be so bad. My friends will be there. I can sleep when we’re done. Really.
If you say so.
I say so. Except . . . When I was a kid, I thought my parents had it all figured out. I thought that when I grew up, I’d have it all figured out, too.
I know. I know.
Speaking of “honey,” people say funny things in the South. Like “Sweet Pea.” And “you’uns.” And “y’all.” And I realized tonight: I’m getting used to it. It will feel strange to visit California and not hear, “You’uns ain’t done nothin’ wrong, y’all ‘ear?” or “Ain’t nobody got time for that!” . . .
. . . It’s not so different from listening to Mandarin in Asia, actually. It was strange to return home and understand conversations around me then, too.
Is that so? Hmm . . .
Conversations are great, yes. But what about communication?
You would ask.
Communication is key — in everything. It’s why we can’t just all get along. We don’t seek to listen and understand before first being heard. This goes for everyone.
And me too. Me too.
But . . . “home.” What is home? Is it the bed upon which we lay our head? The person with whom we don’t hold back? The thing we’re really good at? People boast that their homes are the BEST EVER. But have they traveled the world? Have they seen everything it has to offer?
They don’t have to. Home is where they’re comfortable.
I see, I see. But not for me. Home is where my heart is, but it’s more than that, too.
SO much more.
I should really go to bed. But I have dishes to do and wars to fight first. (This poem inspired me the other night, though. Lord knows I need to lay off the Pledge®.)