Going Home and other such adventures

I sit and write this very first entry on this very new blog, propped up on my bed in my room in my home. The home that has always been my home. But even though I’ve always had this place as a sort of “base,” I’ve found I can make many other places my home.

Like this summer, for example. I don’t think I can count on my hands and toes the amount of homes I’ve had.*

And this new adventure. I asked a friend of mine for help titling this new literary effort. He asked me to rant about the upcoming year and he would see what he could come up with. “Going home” was his first solution to my titling problem. A name he created in response to my claim that I very much want to make this new place, Oviedo, Spain, my home.

I think it fits; I am in a perpetual state of going home.

So I leave my present (and constant)** home for yet another place. I’ll affix the name of “home” to Oviedo from the start, even though it won’t fit. It will pop off awkwardly from time to time, requiring adjustments, a nail here, some glue there, a bit of stretching to fill the frame. Until one day I’ll wake up and I’ll discover that it has happily nestled into its place.

As for right now, if you asked me if I was feeling ______ and filled in that blank with any emotion in the world, I could probably say yes. So I will leave the emotion-talk at that.***

Oh, and in regards to the adventures part of my title, well, use your imagination for that one.

I think I have some great excitement to come.



________
*And many thanks to those who gave me a (temporary) home.
**Don’t you dare sell the house while I’m gone, Mom.
***With the exception of mentioning my inexplicable fear that I will exit the plane only to be assaulted by Spaniards armed with tomatoes.