I thought it would be interesting to share where I go every week day morning at 10:30, and what I come back to. It is also interesting to contemplate what those two words mean to me: Going. Coming. Going has a cold feeling - like going away.
Wetlands behind my property.
Coming always sounds warm and inviting, like coming home. I am a real solid dyed-in-the-wool homebody, so going is always difficult and coming home is glorious. Coming home is also accentuated by some beautiful views (when the days are longer than 2 hours). The views are very lovely on the going part of my daily commute - but, by being part of the going, they are not quite as lovely as they could be.
End of the road.
If dinner isn't coming soon, I'm going to find
someone who loves me more. As if.
Last Wednesday, I got to enjoy the overnight company of friends whom I love - and got to revel a bit in Deerhounds, my favorite 'breed' (besides Dachshunds - their polar opposite). I had to watch how much I gushed, as Scrappy is very sensitive to which way the love meter is turning. They brought me their last skein of Flora's yarn, which has instilled in me a need to skirt her fleece and get it spun. They also brought me some of their wonderful fingering weight Icelandic/Alpaca blend. There is no such thing as too much yarn!!! A looong winter stretches before me. Yah!