f r e s h s t a r t

Saturday, August 20, 2005

 

Thoughts on home: Coming home

The way that I come home to my parents’ house in Michigan has become a ritual of sorts, in that it varies very little. I pack a bag for myself and for the dog, load the car, stop at 7-11 for caffeine and sugar, swing into the gas station to fill the tank of the Taurus. We hop onto Lake Shore Drive, I zero out the trip odometer, crack open a Diet Coke, and roll down the right rear window so Henry can stick out his nose and smell the Lake Michigan breeze. We’re on the road.

We take Lake Shore Drive down to Hyde Park, get on the Skyway, breeze through Indiana and enter Michigan. We go from 94 to 69 to our exit, and when we get to the first stop light, a deep relaxation sets in. We drive down the dark two-lane road, past a truck stop, cornfields, and finally the town cemetery. We make our turn, and the moon shines through the tall trees that line the street as we drive past the library, the elementary school, the firehouse, the post office, the basketball court, the renewable energy center (this is new), and the ice cream shop. We drive over the bridge, turn before the corner store, and my parents’ house comes into view. Someone is awake inside, waiting for us, and they’ve left the porch lights on. Henry scrambles out of the car and up the porch steps. His paws on the porch announce our arrival in case anyone missed the sound of the car pulling into the driveway. The door opens, and we’re welcomed home.

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