Plan A: Further thoughts on ‘Home’

In response to the responses to my previous post:

1) Thank you. I love to weave with words. And, if I do have a way with them, I’ll try to weave for the good of the Way. Most times, I write to enlighten myself as much as anyone else. To write is to learn, I am learning.

2) When I was in college, I had a boyfriend who justifiably judged Will as a threat to his own matrimonial intentions. “Jay” tried warning me away from Will by proposing that journalistic ambition and photographic talent would land Will in exotic locales, sharing rare sights with the rest of us via National Geographic magazine or some such prestigious publication. And in fact, many others have also predicted and/or recommended that Will pursue “greener pastures” of his trade. Even if greener pastures existed (and I really don’t think they do, given the current economy, combined with the web-driven media revolution), I doubt Will would budge. The truth is, he adores the A-Town pastures and surrounding region as much as I do—possibly more.

I should have foreseen Will’s attachment to A-Town 13 years ago. After about a month of living here, meeting folks and seeing the sights (he was very excited by the Erie Canal—said it was like meeting a celebrity), Will came home one day from the local cemetery, determined to purchase a plot. It is an above-average burial site—a sprawling, multi-level, lovely, lawny, tree-filled, peaceful place. Of the well-known war memorial tower in its center, Will has probably penned a half-dozen articles and tributes (so far). On a clear day, from the top of the tower, you can see the Great Lake 10 miles north of us. Since seeing that vista, Will has seen fit to stay.

It’s certainly not that he lacks ambition. It’s simply a dig-in-your-heels-and-make-this-place-a-better-place kind of drive. Imagining him in a safari suit photographing aboriginal tribes or rare flower specimens seems somehow laughable when I watch him first thing every morning, sitting in our front room/home office, “hammering out” news of the previous night’s board meeting in his pajama pants and pre-shower bed-head (zoning board, planning board, town, village, historical society, board of education…some nights he has a half-dozen to choose from—how could he possibly be bored?!). After completing an article (or 2 or 3), he’ll help ready the kids for school, or wash the dishes, or fold some clothes (however imperfectly). Jay was way off—Will’s as down-home a family man as they come.

3) For the few years we lived near our mutual alma mater, we felt as if we were “camping out.” I couldn’t figure out why I didn’t feel settled. I didn’t even really realize I didn’t feel settled until the opportunity presented itself to move back to A-Town. We were looking at houses for sale here, I remember, when I heard the whir of small-town traffic outside the unfamiliar walls. Somehow the cars sound different passing through these village streets than in suburbia. We didn’t end up buying that particular house, but I remember that sound, that sense of relief sweeping over me: Ahhh! I’m home! Would I feel the same way in any small-town setting? I don’t know. And I don’t feel likely to ever find out.

4) For me, the anchor of our A-Town-born friendship will always be the front porch. Fortunately, in this uber-techno day and age, the “front porch” is exceedingly portable.

I should add that my ultimate “Comfort of Home” is my theological understanding that this world is not it!