coming home from vacation

I could have rolled this entry in with the Tuesday of vacation entry, I concede.  But I think it's worth a separate reflection.

On the Wednesday, we flew home.  And it's that last word that's the interesting one here.  Home is where I live and where Conrad and Van and Olive are.  That makes home Pasadena.  But boy oh boy, do I have conflicted feelings about home and what it really means.  This bubbles up any time I come back from a trip to Canada, especially to BC.  Because that is what feels like home to me.

Because look, here was my morning walk.

And here's what I flew home to.

And while I have been at home in both, one of these speaks more to me than the other 

This is not a dump-on-the-US or on LA kind of post, no.  Just the admission that every trip to Canada takes an emotional toll that I often need at least a few days to recover from.  I posted earlier this week that it's been 25 years down here.  If I am still here in five years (very likely), then I will have lived half my life in the US.  I have already lived in California longer than I did in Chicago, and Pasadena is now the place I have lived second-longest in my life (and I haven't done the math, but I think that come September or some time then, it will be the place I will have lived the longest uninterrupted).  I have a great life here.

But I miss my country.  Simple as that.