Home is Where the Husband is

We arrived in Minnesota in mid-May to spend time with my (Michael) family. Because I grew up here, some things are still familiar. But because I left a long time ago, a lot has changed, and my relationship with this place is… complex.

It’s not home. It’s where mom is, my brother and his family are, and one or two old friends; so, it’s lovely to visit. But it’s not home.  And even though I lived most of my life in Seattle, last year’s visit proved that it’s not home anymore either.

Huh.

Regardless…

We had a lovely, if brief, visit with the family. We got to see the nephews and niece and their respective spouses.  I wrestled and played with the great-nephews, we hung out a bit with my brother and his lovely wife… and of course, we spent lots of time with mom.

Mother LaTour is clearing some things out, so we needed to reclaim some items from her home. We had also picked up some Lausund family mementos in Germany.  All of this was too much to check on a plane, so as we said goodbye to Minnesota, we rented a car and started another road trip to Southern California. (For those who don’t know, we still own a home in the Coachella Valley, and our tenant (and dear friend) allows us to use part of the garage as a storage unit.)

Erik hasn’t experienced the Midwest much (“it’s just so flat”) so it was fun to watch him take in the scenery as we left Minnesota, cut through Iowa, and enter Nebraska. Growing up in these wide-open expanses, I often take them for granted, and don’t really see that they are beautiful in their own way.

Our trip included a visit to Estes Park, Colorado. Erik has an old college friend there and he wanted to stop and spend an afternoon with her. It was delightful to see and spend time with her, her partner, and one of her sons, but it was also our first time in Colorado, and our drive on day two to get to her home gave us a sneak preview of what was to come.

The morning of day three we left the Boulder area and continued west on I-70. Neither of us were prepared for the overwhelming beauty ahead.  I-70 is essentially built into the mountainside- at times it feels like you are driving on a floating highway. We found ourselves stopping every hour or so at rest stops, because whoever planned them was brilliant enough to ensure that they also doubled as vista points and hiking trails.

As we left the Rockies behind, we immediately transitioned into the buttes and mesas of Utah. Another state we’ve only ever flown over, the almost desert-like quality of the area provided its own unique beauty. I was fascinated by the harshness of the landscape, paired with the beauty of the mesas. After a night in Utah, we finally arrived in Rancho Mirage. Since it was Memorial Day weekend, traffic was heavier, but thankfully still quite manageable.

It’s always a strange, yet delightful, experience to visit the house in California. Our friend Cynthia couldn’t be a more gracious host, and (almost) 40 years of friendship means that there’s a natural comfort. That said, it’s strange to see so many of our possessions in the home- and yet, it’s not our home.  For now, it’s hers- as it should be. We chatted about this during our visit, and there is nothing bad about it- it’s just strange, and touches on this idea of “where is home?”

Perhaps this is on my mind as I am sitting and writing this from Ecuador. We arrived here on May 30^th, and are here through the end of July- staying in the same building we used to live in. There’s a comfort to this building and a familiarity to this city- after all, we spent 18 months here. But Ecuador isn’t home either.

Thus, the title of this entry. 😊