It was a large conference we put on, and it was exciting, exhausting, inspiring, and overwhelming all at the same time. (Yep, that is possible.) Besides all of the weks of prep work leading up to the big event, we put in long days that started early, so I went to bed tired. I would then proceed to wake up every hour, worrying that I might somehow over sleep for tomorrow's early morning meeting. (I am pretty sure that I looked like I was 87 by the last day of the event.)
All I could think of on my flight home was walking in the door of my little home. There is such a sense of restfulness, and warmth, and...I am not sure of what word to use here, but maybe it's security. A place to just sit, and be present, and process all of the days before, among pictures of grand babes, and little black Halloween crows everywhere.
Once I did land, it turned out that I didn't get to go straight home, but somewhere else, where we watched the Seahawks game. That only magnified my need for being home.
It's funny to me, how a little old, fixer-upper, not-nearly-close-to-even-halfway-done cottage can do that to a girl. I guess that's why they say home is where the heart is.