Home

My apologies for not updating sooner upon our arrival home from our travels. Herself brought some New England Yankee cold germs home with her, and between those, the catch-up in the household from being away, and work, there has been no time to write.

The trip had three distinct parts:

The day in the office was excellent. work was done, colleagues were seen, things were accomplished.

The high school reunion was everything Herself hoped it would be. Inspiring, reconnecting, satisfying. Strange at times, to be sure, but in a good way.

The quiet drive on Saturday morning took Herself past the old grade school, the house in which Herself grew up, the library she enjoyed as a child, the church where Herself married her Beloved, and the hospital where the first two Offspring were born.

So much was done, and yet there are no stories in particular to report. Herself was very pleased to have gone, and even more relieved to be back. The one thing I learned on the trip, she said, is that this spot here is my Home.

Home is the one place in all this world where hearts are sure of each other. It is the place of confidence. It is the place where we tear off that mask of guarded and suspicious coldness which the world forces us to wear in self-defense, and where we pour out the unreserved communications of full and confiding hearts. It is the sport where expressions of tenderness gush out without any sensation of awkwardness and without any dread of ridicule.

- Frederick W. Robertson