Last week, as I traveled to Cleveland for my father’s surprise birthday party, I was alone. Greg and the kids stayed back at home, I was on my own. I repeat – on my own. That doesn’t happen very often. I rarely get to sleep in. I rarely get to fend ONLY for myself. I rarely get to plan my day according to what I need to do. But I shouldn’t fail to mention, that Greg, too, was on his own . . . with four kids.
While I was ‘on my own,’ I was experiencing a bit of freedom from my usual day, and one of my usual hang-outs. . the kitchen. The kitchen is a room that I spend a fair amount of time in. Now, as I enter my Mother’s home, both she and Richard were more than happy to take on the kitchen-cooking roll, as they truly enjoy cooking for others.
I felt as if I was at home.
Miles away, Greg was in the kitchen. As I made my check-in calls, I would find Greg either in the kitchen, or in the process of planning to be in the kitchen. They too enjoyed Friday night pizza, then traditional Saturday morning pancakes, and a family favorite Tigaroni. Life went on at home, without me in the kitchen – thank you Greg for making it happen.
Back at my Mom’s, we maintained the Friday night pizza tradition, Richard was quick to brew the coffee in the morning, and Mom and Rich planned a shrimp and chicken stir-fry to enjoy before we headed off to surprise my Dad.
As I nursed a cold, did a bit of work, and finalized plans for Dad’s surprise party, miraculously a birthday cake was pulled from the oven and frosted, — something I was to do, but Mom generously helped out with accomplishing.
But, it was Sunday evening that really hit home. As I sat in the office, working, I could hear Mom and Rich planning and preparing the evenings dinner – lasagna. I don’t make I often at the Everage household, because not everyone likes it, so it would be a treat.
As late afternoon arrived, the smell coming from the kitchen was wonderful. I brought back lots of memories of family dinners gone by. I was home, and ready to enjoy a delicious meal cooked by Mom and Richard – Dad joined us as well.
Monday morning Mom packed my backpack with homemade peanut butter fudge, and a few slices of cold leftover pizza – saving me from spending excessive amounts of money for food at the airport.
Upon returning home, after the hugs, I found myself back in the kitchen. Actually, I didn’t really notice it, until Greg came around the corner and smiled at me standing there next to the counter. “It’s good to see you back home with us,” he said.
As the Talking Heads song says, “Home. Home is where I want to be.” And, that’s exactly where I was this past weekend, and where I am right now.
