Welcome Home

Mom got home from West Virginia last night. Well, technically she got home in the wee hours this morning. Bad weather in Chicago really put Southwest Airlines into a crunch and for a while there it looked like she might be playing the Orbitz “Who can find a hotel room?” game.

I think I’m as glad as she is that she didn’t have to stay over. I really don’t function well when she’s gone. It has been a running joke regarding my retirement that we carefully mapped out the days I can be home and the days I can’t so that we don’t get on each other’s nerves. Well, perhaps she feels stronger about that than I do, but I was ready for some minor conflict after about the third day. I have a mental image of myself as being cast in the mold of one of Garrison Keeler’s Norwegian Bachelors – self-sufficient, resolute and capable. The truth of the matter is I’m more like Percy Kilbride’s Pa Kettle (I know, that’s BYT).

Granted, there is a certain pleasure in leaving the bed unmade for the duration, and letting dishes pile up until the last possible minute (I didn’t eat at home this much; how can I have this many dirty dishes?) but it doesn’t make up for meals eaten alone and long, boring evenings. Plus – and I admit this with some shame – it’s inconvenient. I mean, I had to keep going to Wal-Mart to buy clean underwear!

No, the truth is, she stock-piled the clean underwear, and foodstuffs, and all the other things I depend on her for before she left. But you can’t stock-pile conversations and glances and touches; and even the 42” High Def TV can’t provide companionship. I’m glad she’s home. I missed her.