Home, Owner
Before dawn on Tuesday, I crept out of bed and packed for my business trip. Of course, you can't really creep anywhere in our 86-year-old house because the floorboards give you away in a heartbeat. And you can't escape your neighbors' attention when you have no coverings on the majestic windows and little covering on yourself when you are walking out of the shower.
Finally, at 5:30, I zoomed out of our driveway and wondered what the new, very friendly and half-nosey neighbor would think as the new homeowner left town just 48 hours after arriving in the yellow house of dreams.
I flew to Boston. I navigated our team from the mall entrance to the business entrance of the Prudential Tower. I recognized where we were that night at dinner, since it was blocks from where I stayed on my last business jaunt to Boston.
The next day, I got myself onto an airport shuttle, tracked down a quiet terminal at Logan International Airport to take a conference call, and then flew to Detroit, where I rented a green Pontiac G6 and drove almost an hour to my next hotel. I followed a caravan to the agency where I spoke the following morning, then Mapquested my way back to Detroit Metro Airport, took the 8-mile rental car return detour, barely made the flight, and landed in Columbus in time to zig-zag through airport construction on the way to the office for a conference call.
For 3 days, I was a whirlwind of travel with no glitches. I was like Hertz's NeverLost. Accurate. On-time.
And then, leaving work Thursday night, I forgot how to get to our new house from my office. I drove out of the parking garage and sat blinking in the streetlights like I had never seen Columbus before. Our little yellow house of dreams loomed in my mind, but I could hear my dad's favorite saying, "You can't get there from here" echoing in the car. I called Steve, who laughed when I asked for directions and then guided me home.
Home. What a nice place to (finally) be.


