Home

I want to go home. That's what I say when times are tough. Away from stress is what I mean, from conflict and strife and imperfection. But it's not a place I've ever found. Instead, my home is joy.

It's a quiet evening after a busy week, spent reading my own blog and laughing with online friends even though a few hours ago I swore I was "socialled out."

It's a brilliant moment of connection over a spreadsheet, of all things, sharing formulas and optimism with Chloe—she of the healthy savings account who could teach her mother a thing or two about impulse control but perhaps has a few things to learn about being the bad guy.

It's a bottle of cheap champagne, opened perfectly by my laughing waitress, MJ, even though it's her first time to play sommelier. She joins me in a glass and then forgets all about the bottle left standing on the counter, our finest Cook's going flat as she simply lives her life, hardly knowing or caring that she is confounding the dire predictions of teen-phobic people everywhere.

It's talking small but vital details of Our Music with Frank, and the thrill of finding a new passion to share. After all these years!

It's two sisters happily tucked into the basement together, using up all their stolen video minutes and then figuring out what to do next, occassionally sending peals of laughter and a few strange noises floating up the stairs to entertain us.

It's even the damned Christmas tree, its lights shining merrily for one last night before I deal with it tomorrow.

And it is tomorrow, and the promise of another day of discovering the sweet small joys of home.