Two homes. One heart.

What being home (in Beaufort) means to me

Having two "homes" can be very conflicting, especially when they are so different and you can't put all the things you like about one into the other. My mom's home - an old Maine farmhouse - is not my idea of a comfortable house. It is home, because that is where she is. But the house itself causes neverending daily annoyances that threaten my patience when I am there. It is always difficult to wave goodbye to the Ermalator as I leave the driveway of 1121 Webber Pond Road, but as soon as my back is turned, I am looking forward to being back in my space, even if that means being apart from those I love.Being home to me is being able to walk across a floor in my bare feet and it doesn't feel like I'm walking across the driveway in barefeet. Home means hot water comes instantly from the tap, which by the way, has pressure. A remarkable luxury. At home, taking a shower doesn't involved walking down two flights of stairs, through a garage, across a dirt basement to empty the water filter so I have enough water pressure to actually rinse off the soap, and then going back up two flights again to get in the shower, all the while hoping mom doesn't forget and flush the toilet while I'm in there, draining all the cold water and more importantly, since the water doesn't get that hot anyway, reducing the shower stream to a dribble. Home means I can get out of bed and not have to put on three layers and two pairs of socks before even going to the bathroom. Home means not having to brush my teeth in the same sink my mom cleans her dentures in.Home means no cluster flies creeping out of the upstairs windows every damn hour of every damn day. The sound of flies buzzing sends me into a PTSD-like frenzy to kill.Home means comfortable furniture, like a sofa.  Watching something on TV other than Judge Judy, Dr. Oz and the Young and the Restless.Home has flourishing outdoor plants living on the doorstep in December. A yard with no snow or mud or ice. Home is enjoying my morning coffee sitting on the back step in my bathrobe.Listening to songbirds. Seeing palm trees and spanish moss. Blue sky.There is no fleece at this home, or flannel sheets, or electric mattress warmers.Home means no dust, cat hair or wood smoke to clog my sinuses and make me sneeze. But what this home doesn't have is the hearts of friends and family I have known for upwards of 47 years. And so I will have to be content with my clean, cozy, warm environment -- did I mention clean? And warm?--until I am headed back to my other home - the real one where I can wrap myself in the warmth and comfort and meaningful connections and bonds of true and ever lasting friendships.Until the spring, my friends!!