baggage's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Homeboy Whenever I get back from a vacation, people ask me where I went. Perhaps somewhere exotic-somewhere far away from the grind of daily obligations-somewhere unfamiliar to scrape off the residue of the day to day. But, with all due respect to the exotic, I prefer the safe confines of the familiar. That is-I prefer to be home. Maybe, some can assume that I've prematurely metamorphosed into a boring old fart. But, the medicine I need can't be found in the unfamiliar. A home built from the banal traditions of good morning kisses and three-in-the-morning embraces is the kind of refuge I long for. And unfortunately, I'm away from home much too much these days-either trapped on the freeway in a cocoon of steel, rubber and music-or trapped in the gray-walled cube that houses my professional aspirations neatly within a 20-foot square. So in the short reprieve between Christmas and January 1st, I disappeared into home-feet sliding gracefully over the beautiful hardwood floors and hands sliding over the many guitars hanging from the walls. As the leaves fell on the lawn, and the pine needles collected in the corner, I reclaimed (as much as I could anyway) the person that has fallen by the wayside in recent months. And for a short while, the huge space in my life between passion and responsibility was connected by a bridge built from the familiar. It's been a good year so far. 6:36 p.m. - 2002-01-02 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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