Home. I have chewed on the concept and the actual location of the place for a long time. I have lived in places where I never felt at home, sometimes gradually finding enough of my people in those places to hold on and not wither away. I lived in places that felt like home, left them with every intention of coming back, never to return. There are places in-between—places where I felt some connection with the air of the place and made important friendships. Boston is one of those places. I moved from Jersey to Cambridge in the middle 70’s to live with David. He had been at Brandeis, dropping out to play in the pit band of the show, Lenny, and then just staying on. I liked the city then and the neighborhoods in Somerville and Cambridge where we lived. I was willing to move back to somewhere around here after we finished our degrees. David wanted NYC as home and very certainly, I fell in love with NYC and had no regrets.
We never returned together to Boston, and when we left NYC for the midwest, I forgot that I had feelings for Boston, the place.
And I did not quite realize, when I lived in Madison for twelve years, how much that had grown to be a home. It was a hard place to leave. Not the home that I came from, I will never be a midwesterner but the place with the people who supported me, and Julia, those first years of her with us and all the years after David left.
Yesterday. Two more sleeps.
I am finished!
Last Thursday: This moving to a different state thing with someone with a disability is not for the faint of heart.
Another liminal stage of this unexpected life.
Chasing Joy 