When I left St. Simons Island, I was going home. Home was the place I was raised, where my relatives waited, where thousands of long-buried happy memories lay waiting.
I've been in Buffalo for almost three weeks now. Having turned over their Build-A-Bear room to me, I've seen more of my nieces recently than in the last several years cummulative. They are amazing. My brother and his wife, as well as Bernie's gang, couldn't be more generous with themselves and their homes.
Cousin Cheryl and I enjoyed a long , talky dinner together Saturday night for the first time in our adult lives. It was pure delight.
My job is the most challenging I've encountered, but watching my nieces Lauren and Kaitlyn at their first classical concert on Friday night made it adundantly clear that this can and should be the most emotionally rewarding experience of my career.
I'm at the office all the time and thinking about it when I'm not there, but in the concert hall, it's only the music. It's exciting.
Thus, I was caught unaware by the wave of sadness that crashed over me when I opened an envelope from Rog yesterday. Three gorgeous black and white pictures of our last wine picnic on the beach. The beach on that island that was never home.
Rog and Anne, Charlie and I are obviously happy. In the photo paper, I can smell and feel the breeze of a perfect night.
Last Saturday night Rog and Charlie celebrated Anne's 50th birthday. I wasn't there.
Jen balanced two jobs and final exams for the last two weeks, but the only encouragement I could give her was email. Charlie and I talk every day, but it's no substitute.
When the house is sold. When Rog and Anne(Carol, Flynn, Anne, Christophe and others) come to visit. When I can share a glass of wine and the adventures of the day with my husband at the end of a long day, then I'll be home.
Work and roots are in Buffalo. My core of family and friends is in St. Simons.
I'm in both places and neither.


Copyright 2004 Judi Griggs