Thankfulness

A mere day and a half away from Thanksgiving and it’s time to stop and think about all the things I’m truly thankful for (seriously, and, well, not so seriously): My family My friends McDreamy the invention of mochas Muffin’s excitement when I come home from work a smile across a crowded room Laughter Recognizing that all the little things I blow so out of proportion are the not, in fact, the end of the world Baseball (and the World Series champs!) NCAA basketball My car is running! Seeing my mom and dad and brother tonight Sleeping in my old bedroom I’m going HOME today!

It’s funny, really. Nashville is my home and I love it here, but Bernie, Mo., is also home. And I can’t wait to get in the car and drive there today. I can hardly wait to take that final exit off of Highway 60 and make that left hand turn onto Highway 25. That’s the moment I know the drive is almost over; I’m almost home. The moment when sheer familiarity takes control and I don’t have to think about speed limits or where the next turn is. I’m almost home. I’m driving past my first real boyfriend’s parents’ house, waving at Grandma Averitt’s house (not my grandma, but my best friend Dawn’s and I spent a lot of time there with Dawn in high school.) Then I’m leaving Dexter behind me, passing fields and sheds, Crowley’s Ridge my constant geographic companion to the west. All too soon, I’m passing Dean and Shirley’s old house and I’m hit anew with the realization that my uncle Dean won’t celebrate Thanksgiving with us this year, and he won’t tease me about living in Nashville or ask me for the 900th time what I do. I just keep driving, heading south on 25, guided by Bernie’s water tower. And then I’m slowing down, preparing to turn onto my parents’ road, the road I grew up on, only it wasn’t paved then. I smile as I pass Barb’s house and wave if I see her outside. Muffin realizes where we are and stands up and presses her nose against the car window. So I roll it down and let the air press in around us. This time of year it smells like harvest–cotton defoliant and dirt, sun-baked crops and just a hint of cold, the promise of winter to come. I pause in front of my aunt and uncle’s house, then see the lights of home. My parents’ house is always alive with lights, the life inside beaming out from the windows. I turn in and listen to the dogs bark. Muffin cries to get out of the car. And then we do, and the back door flings open, light and dogs spilling out onto the screened-in porch where our carport used to be, and there are hugs all around. I’m home, and I’m loved. And this Thanksgiving, it’s that love that I’m most thankful for. . .from my parents, my brother, and all my friends who’ve blessed me with their love and made me realize that home isn’t just a place. It’s a feeling. Thanks for loving me!