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writegirl@altavista.com
Hiya Jack!
How I love to travel. I am so fond of bumping along from town-to-town, expressways, interstates, side roads, backroads, even once ended up on a cattle trail in Montana. People greeting you with grins or a stoic duh. It’s all good.
The last trip, our trip south... remember us finding Krispy Kreme donuts at that backwater gas station right off the expressway? You know I have had them twice since I have been back and none have tasted like sweet ambrosia the way the first one did. I wonder why. I wonder if it is the intensity of you being in the seat next to me. Do you make life sweeter?
Today while sitting in my tiny garden watching the monarchs sip from flower-to-flower, I know that the best, sweetest, most deluxe, four-letter word in the entire English language is “home.” How casually people use that word when it is so full of warmth and love, even in the ragged times when there is anger underneath the love.
Since my parents died, I can only guess what I am referring to when I say the word “home?” Is it the lake? the town? the strangers?
Or is it here? In this little house of mine, sitting along a river in another alien state? I have tried everything..almost. I have planted gardens and filled my house with music, yet when I come here, when I come “home”, there is no one to greet me, no one to say “glad you are here.” So I have a home, a lovely girl with a lovely house, but one true thing is missing.
Help me find what I need, Jack. Be mine?
Chloe