At home on the road

My family does not have a history of staying put so something as simple as a kiss on top of the head, the smell of my grandmother’s perfume, or a candy bar materializing in my coat pocket feels more like arriving home than any physical address ever could.

A trip to the doughnut shop is standard procedure every time I visit my grandparents. Even as an ornery teenager I never minded my grandfather’s 5AM wake up call, not even the time he woke me up with a gong. In between slow sips of coffee and his gentle nudging to go for a third bear claw, he made sure I knew just how much he loved me, how proud he was of how I was turning out.

Continuing south and on toward another migratory phase of life, these simple traditions keep the comforts of home close to my heart no matter where we land.