This afternoon, when we finally pulled into the driveway of our humble abode, I had home on my mind.  I’ve lived in the greater Philadelphia area for nearly seven years, and for most of that time, I’ve been plotting to get out.  There have been brief glimmers when I felt I’d broken free … just to be yanked back, like the huge hooked canes used to pull performers from the stage during the vaudeville era.

We hit the road early on Friday, glad of the practically perfect weather and looking forward to the road trip and some fun along the way.  We were on our way to Massachusetts (a state neither of us had visited before) for a wedding.  But first, we were stopping in South Norwalk, Connecticut to pick up my brother and his lady love, thus breaking up the time on the road, as well as getting some Q.T. with my little brother (who, because of his insane social life and the fact that we live in different cities, I rarely see nowadays).

We flipped on the radio as we drove down the PA turnpike with the windows rolled down.  Preston & Steve’s morning show was on (something I go through phases of enjoying) and they were discussing the counties around Philadelphia.  Most specifically, how much people from Delaware County (Delco to the locals) loved being from Delco.  It was an interesting conversation, as people from Montgomery County and Bucks County and Philadelphia County were also dissected in the comfortable way of morning talk shows.  People with thick accents called in to espouse the virtues (or evils) of particular places.  I began to realize that not only did I know where all these places were, but I also understood the basic psychology of the people who called each locale their home.  It got John and I discussing (for possibly the millionth time) where we lived, and where we wanted to end up.  I confessed to him that despite fighting vehemently to maintain my disdain for Philly, I was beginning to love where we lived.  We will hit two years of cohabitation in August, and we have a great little apartment, surrounded by leafy green trees, with neighbors out of a 1950’s sitcom.  We know the back roads ~ we have a sushi place, and a football place. We are beginning to branch out and learn about the surrounding area.  I sighed with resignation.  “I don’t really want to move anywhere right now.”

I could see a smile playing at the corners of John’s mouth.  (I believe, to a certain extent, that opposites attract, and I think there are more things that John and I disagree about than the other way around).  “So you like Philly now?”

“I didn’t say that!” I laughed, and swatted his arm.  John loves Philly.  “And I’m not ready to shout it from rooftops either.  I’m just saying, I like where we live.  I don’t want to move.  We’re … settled right now.  It’s a nice feeling.”

“Hmm.”  He glanced at me, still fighting a smile.  I knew this revelation made him happy.  We’ve spent quite a bit of time butting heads about where to put down roots.  As John Lennon sang, life IS what happens when you are busy making other plans.  As we’d quibbled, and gone back and forth (Colorado, Montana, Wyoming, Pittsburgh), little did I know we were putting down roots right where we were.  And … I liked it.

This in and of itself is enough to get one thinking about home.  But someone, it seemed, was sending me lots of messages, just to make sure I didn’t miss the point.  As the homily began during our friend’s wedding mass on Saturday afternoon, the priest looked directly at the groom, and asked “Where do you live?”  The groom’s facial expression was priceless ~ a sort of physical representation of “Where did that come from?/Am I supposed to answer you?/ What exactly is the response you’re looking for?” An undertone of laughter passed through the crowd.  We were all thinking exactly what the groom’s face had expressed.  Essentially, after quite a long and circuitous route, the answer was, home is where you choose it to be, and with whom you choose to share it.  “Ah ha!” you’re thinking.  “This seems exactly like something a priest would pontificate on during a marriage ceremony.”  I would have to agree.  But it also poked at my brain ~ stirred up all the thoughts of the day before, pushing me to articulate that which I understood, but hadn’t yet distilled into words.

On Sunday, after depositing my brother and his lady in South Norwalk to enjoy an afternoon at the beach and some grub with friends, John and I were alone again, finishing up the last leg of our journey.  He leaned his head back as we steered onto 95 and said, “It’s not that I don’t like spending time with your family, ” (he often prefaces things this way ~ I believe it’s to nip any argument or injury I might find in the bud), “but I was really looking forward to it just being you and I in the car.”   I knew what he meant.  It had been an incredible weekend.  The wedding reception was one of the best I’ve ever been to ~ as Mary Poppins would say matter-of-factly, practically perfect in every way.  I’d seen friends from high school whom I hadn’t seen in years ~ that alone gave me a sense of home.  We’d eaten scrumptious food (the groom is a chef, and the food was divine), had lovely cocktails, and enjoyed excellent company.  All good, all around.  But I was tired now, and the comfort of knowing that we could just be us two, sitting together in silence, felt wonderful.

I was also looking forward to getting home ~ getting back to the cool quiet of our little nest, and relaxing in silence on our big comfy couch.  I thought of how nice it always felt to come over the crest of the hill, and see the little sign at the end of our driveway, welcoming us home.  To turn into the red gravel drive, and creep slowly along as the dogs frenetically zoomed this way and that, barking and jumping, as the stones crunched under the tires, and finally pull into our little nook, with the leaves fluttering in the breeze, and the flowers waving hello in all their colorful glory.

I knew that it wasn’t about Philadelphia.  (Although to be fair, our country was founded here, and that makes it a pretty cool place ~ even without all its other amenities).  It was about finding balance, and consistency and living in it day after day.  I tried to remember the last time I’d lived in one place for two years, or worked for the same company, or been with the same man.  All at the same time?  Never.  My childhood was defined by the moves my family made, every few years, when my dad was offered a better job, in a different place.  Back then, home was where my family was ~ home was dinner every night with everyone sitting around the table.  Home wasn’t a location.

So…where am I from?  I’m not sure anymore.  Am I from Pittsburgh, where I was born?  Am I from Wyomissing, where I graduated high school?  Am I from Philadelphia now, after living here for longer than anywhere else?  Maybe I’m from all those places.  I certainly know that I have a deep love for Pittsburgh and Wyomissing.  And I’m beginning to realize that I have love for Philly, too.  Maybe a little bit dysfunctional ~ considering I try every day to remember I don’t like it here! (Cue angry child foot stomp). But love nonetheless.  Do I even need to define where I’m from to know where I’m going?

So there I sat, the wind swirling through the car, the jam sounds of Dave Matthews providing a mellow soundtrak to our return.  And I realized that I DID feel settled.  I did feel happy.  And more importantly, I felt like I was coming home.

So here’s what I believe.  I believe that home is where I live with John.  Home is our kitchen, and our garden, and each other. Home is neighbors to share dinner with, and dogs barking hello at the end of a long work day.  Home is the barista at Starbucks smiling in recognition when I walk through the door.  It’s the clerk at Acme and the bank teller that I always wait for (because she has the best big earrings EVER).  Home is routine mixed in with adventure.  It’s learning to cook curry (I’ve only done it twice, and it’s pretty basic, but YUM YUM), and making subtle changes in home decor. It’s weekly dinner with friends (WeHANGSday, named by Mr. Josh Levin) and free concerts in the park.  Home is falling asleep to the sounds of nature, and the gentle oscillation of the fan, with your best friend beside you.

And there’s no place like home.