My Home is not so much a place, but more like a group of people. When I was 10 the parents divorced and the custody arrangement was as follows: every other day. Yep. I switched houses each and every day for the next 8 years of my life. And even when I came back from college that’s what I did until MommaMonday moved to DC (then she lost out). Going back and forth wasn’t always the easiest. I had two workaholic parents who were never happy when I remembered my soccer equipment was at the other’s house….on the way to practice. I never had the right clothes to fit my mood, I was constantly forgetting my contact lens case and cleaners, and the parents were forever rearranging the schedule so often that I was chronically forgotten somewhere. Trust me, that was very hard on a 12 year-old who was already a bit overanxious and a worrier.
But I got by. And I couldn’t have thought of a more perfect arrangement. I got to see them both equally. Which was good because they are two of my absolute most favorite people on Earth. DaddyMonday is one of those sweet, kind hearts who would give his left arm if someone wanted to borrow it for the day. And MommaM is as no-nonsense as they come. And a laugh a minute. I tell people we have the same quirky, weird sense of humor, but really she’s a lot funnier than I am. She’s funny, I’m just quirky and weird. So it didn’t matter that my body and my stuff (but never everything that I needed) didn’t have a permanent “home.” My home was wherever they were.
When I went to college my home was with David. I went wherever he went, he went wherever I went. He is one of the most fascinating people I’ve ever met, and I’m eternally sorry that we aren’t close anymore. Dave had this remarkable way of taking the most mundane activities and turning them into something special, something that I remember almost 10 years later. We spent many, many nights in the Physics lab having stapler gun wars and quizzing each other on quantum theory over late-night T-Bell. He was the one who introduced me to the rest of my college home of Beth, Zack, Willie, DeeJ, Waldo, T-Monk, and Pills (if it sounds like a group of characters, trust me, it was). Whenever I think about any of those people, I am always home.
My life was, is, and will always be, full of Jeffs. I met my first Jeff in May of 1999 while working in DC for the summer. He calls me Peanut. Why, I’ll never know, but perhaps one could infer….Anyway, I call him Sunshine. He is the sunniest, most light-hearted person I know. Yet, he still retains this air of cynicism. I love it! He taught me all figuring out who I am, and the more practical matter of how to sweet-talk the cafeteria ladies at the Lab into free stuff. He was there for me through the trauma of 9/11 and life in the big city. He’s one of the few people who knows me well enough to know what special place the Rolla has in my life and even sent a sympathy card when she passed. Now, that’ll make anyone feel at home.
In between the Jeffs is a Michael. For those of you who know me, you know what a struggle this friendship has been to maintain over the last 18 months. Michael was the quintessential best friend, from 2002 when we met, to sometime around early fall of 2007 when he just stopped talking to me. We all have our theories on why, and I won’t get into those here, just suffice to say I’m still heartbroken over it. I have probably close to 50 postcards that decorate both my fridge and my desk at work from Michael. He travels all over the world and never forgets to send me something. It’s so nice to be thought of in Greenland, and Taiwan, and Peru, and Clemson, South Carolina. Yea Michael! Michael was not only an outlet for my travel passion (which he shared, but to an even greater extent) but someone who could match (and even surpass) me intellectually. When we met, this was something that had been missing in my life for a long time. We have never lived in the same place but always made time to see each other, even when it included flying into Syracuse in the middle of a blizzard the day after Thanksgiving or sprinting, in flip flops, through the Chicago airport so I would make my flight and therefore make his graduation. I can still remember riding up along the Pacific Coast highway at sunset, the two of us pointing out contrails to each other and trying to decide if we should stop and see the Hearst Castle. Ahhhh….when I think about it now it takes me home. I am so sorry you are mad at me Michael, I miss you more than almost anything in the world.
The second and third of my Jeffs arrived in 2003. And with them they brought a GirlFriday and a LeeCee into my home. I am never down with these four around me (and the stove is never off, the water is always running, there is, indeed, underwear on the front lawn, the cans and bottles are always recycled, there is glitter everywhere, the birthday is a week! long, and the beach house is never empty). These four have brought me the greatest joy of my life. I have never laughed so much, been comforted so many times, and felt overwhelmingly loved. It pains me each day to be away from them, and I would give almost anything to play foosball, DDR, or beer pong one last time. Even if it only involved pink lemonade. I might even sleep in a tent and sprint at the sound of a whistle if that’s what they wanted me to do. Who knows who I might run into coming back……
So when I think about home, it isn’t here, it’s over the mountain, it’s up on the beltway, it’s down in the sun of south Flordia, across the bridges of San Francisco, and off of St. Charles in the Bayou.
Excuse me, I gotta go. I’ve got to call home.
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