Feed the Joy

The impending birth of our first grandchild sparks many a dream of children lately.  Finally, as awakening dawned this morning from yet another, enlightenment also dawned!

I dreamed of urchin children, malnourished and just as ill mannered.  Taking them in, I deemed loving, consistent example would eventually cure the misbehaviour, however, their malnourishment more pertinent to address.  A mute petite blonde with a chocolate covered face, nodded yes and no enough for me to surmise that her favorite color was pink.  I was just pondering the way to turn mashed potatoes pink when I awoke.  In that wee blink between fading dream and cognizance, I recalled that children in dreams represent JOY.

"Aha," I thought, "feed the joy!"

Home is Home

Another Virignia day spent reveling on this sunny February morning, gifted between gray and storming winter days. Strolling the wooded path near Kayla's school, an epiphany alighted. Delightedly observing the awakening changes on this path discovered back in Autumn, I noticed not only the tiny leaf buds on the tips of the trees, but also the readied tree which the beavers chewed to point as well as an already fallen work. Their dam remained hidden as I scanned the tranquil lakeside.  

A familiar scent tickled my memory, but did not reveal itself until the end of the trail.  Oak.  Having camped amidst coastal oaks in California, the indescribable scent reawakened.  The California oaks which stand regally, but wide and dense.  Here, however, the White Oaks stand tall fingered elongated leaves.  Yet, oak is oak and the scent remains the same.

Comparatively, here I walk and live while 'transplanted' during our move to the east coast, yet still not settled...both feet here, but a home established back in California.  We remain separated and scattered in this limbo, while Kylie and Mom reside at home in California. I stay with Kayla and our son-in-love, helping and awaiting the arrival of our grandson and Chris works and resides four hours north in York, Pennsylvania.  Our houses and heart strings seem fractured.

However, as that aroma which first homesteaded in my memories thousands of miles away and decades ago attests-oak is oak.  Therefore, I conclude that home is home no matter where I am transplanted, albeit temporary or otherwise.