“Home is the nicest word there is.” – Laura Ingalls Wilder
Consort and I are moving again. Five years have gone by in our little town by the river. We figure we should live somewhere new and like most of the newly retired, downsize.
Meanwhile, our friends are travelling. One, loves to take Cruises though she admits she and her partner,“…usually come down with some variant of Covid or flu every time. We also find that we have stopped going into the various ports and prefer to stay on the boat and wave at people.”
I can’t help but wonder if the Joys of Travelling are more or less fictitious. When I use the word “Travelling” I’m reminded of the time I was thirty and visiting Montgomery, Alabama. Ambling through a rough part of town, a woman called out to me on from her porch, “Honey, you Travellin?’”
“Yes!” I shouted back. Not knowing that “Travelling” is also a Southern term for Prostitution.
I used to enjoy seeing new places, but I believe I enjoyed it more in retrospect. My last trip to Cuba in spring 2024, reminded me that I came home deathly ill. It was on the flight with people incessantly coughing. Anytime someone asked how I liked my Vacation in the best of times, I noticed that they grew bored if I said, “Fantastic”. If I said it was a disaster, they listened with rapt interest.
Dear Reader, let’s go back to the move. Consort and I loved our town and its hills. We even loved the relentless snowfalls. This winter has been tough, and the cold seemed as though it would last forever. All the same, we need a smaller house and a new Vista. A chance to meet more Oddballs. The “For Sale” sign is out. We know we are lucky.
Our realtor has left for the South Pacific and I’m kinda jealous about that, I’m not gonna lie, though this whole story is about being at Home. But C’mon, Hawaii! Where moist air fills out our Wrinkles! It makes my straight hair curl! There are no worries where the Sun constantly shines. No freezing. No shoes.
On the other hand, in an Ontario winter, I can putter around and cook stews and not feel guilty binging Netflix during a blizzard. Besides, I get quite a bit of work done when I’m snowed in. The rooms in the house Consort and I are selling are perfectly temperate. Should there be a power outage, our line of defense are warm slippers and puffy Duvets. We are content that we’re not around mobs of tourists who might have boarded the plane with a plague. We’re happy not to be anxious. Oh, but we have loved this Home so much!
I figure if you have to leave a place that you’ve really loved with beautiful memories, leave it fast. Never turn back and never believe that an hour you remember is a better hour because that hour is gone and might as well be dead.
John also wants me say that he is tired of me referring to him as my Consort. Here-forth, he insists he wants to be known as “Pool Boy”.
So— Home is wherever Pool Boy is. Maybe the new place actually has a pool. Our New Home Sweet Home.
