Home...

One word. Four letters. But it means many things to many people. For some, it's little more than an address, a place that can change on a whim for any reason. For others, it's a family homestead handed down through generations. For us, it's our messy little slice of land in the Volksrepublik of MA.

But it sure feels good waking up in your own bed, no matter how great your vacation may have been...


Made it home safe and sound last night; the plane ride was a little turbulent, but I had an excellent distraction from the bumps and jounces: "Monster Hunter International" by Larry Correira. It's a kind loan from my good friend Heath (he of the infamous fu-stache) for my trip, and it's been hard to put down. I started reading it yesterday evening on the flight home, and am already more than halfway through already (expect a full review later this week...)

There's something magical about coming home after an extended time away. There's the pleasant rush of the familiar; the contentedness of being in a place you know inside and out; of feeling like you belong there. No matter how great a vacation might be, you're still in an unfamiliar setting in a place you don't know - you're definitely not home. As much fun as it is to be someplace new and exotic, there's a lot to be said for the place you call home.

The best trip in the world doesn't compare to the feeling of being somewhere you belong...

That is all.