Wednesday, February 20, 2013


Heading home.

A big bathroom and big bathtub. A walk-in closet. My Camry. My bread maker and crockpot. Could I recreate the fried fruit pies and kolaches like the little bakery in Marathon, Texas? Familiar, quiet streets encircled by mountain ranges dusted with snow like the beignets I discovered the at Huck Finn’s in New Orleans)
Precious time with my sister, the one person I can call no matter what time zone I park my rig.
Friends, who know my dreams and the obstacles to reach them. Friends who watched me shuffle the pieces of my life around and around like a magician playing a shell game, cheering me on no matter how long I slide the shells from right to left, to center, back  to left, and right again. They cheer me on with a faith in me that I don’t always possess.
My business that’s supported me forever. Like me, it grows and changes, its roots burrowing ripples in the road.
Heading home means change.

A mural in Twenty-nine Palms, California.

To veterans those two words are full of thankful prayers, relief ,yet sadness for leaving behind a life few at home understand. Leaving stark, 24/7 fears, but also the tightest human bonds they will ever experience.  Reuniting with loved ones but finding life has gone on in their absence.
 Heading home is about change.

 I had a counselor once tell me there will always be change in your life. It is how we deal with the challenge that makes of the person we are. I cannot describe myself as courageous or brave, but I will not let fear stand in the way of my dreams. Our veterans come home teeming with courage and bravery. My wish for them is to face the challenge of change.
Heading home.

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