“Home” Sweet Home

What does this saying mean when you don’t really have a home? We found that out last night upon returning “home” to Berlin after a terrific visit to countryside in Southern Germany. A longer and more interesting post about our trip to see Alex, Jochen and the Familie Meder to come, but for now, just this: we are NOT homeless after all.

I always get a little sad and nostalgic when a vacation comes to an end. I pledge to sell my soul for just one more day. I stare soberly at the horizon just like Luke Skywalker in Star Wars. Then there is the (often) long slog back to where I started, back to home. But once I’ve finally arrived, my blues are invariably washed away by the comfort of my own bed, the last couple of cookies in the cookie jar that I’ve been feinding for for days, the joy of walking through the kitchen in my underwear, or even simply the sight of a favorite knick-knack on the shelf. This was put to the test last night as we lugged our over-packed bags down Wiesbadner Strasse towards the IBZ.

For starters, the bed at the Meder house is far more comfortable than the one in our apartment here in Berlin. I was wearing my last pair of clean underwear, meaning that in order to parade around the house half-naked today I’d either have to do it in swimtrunks or scrounge up enough euro cents to do the laundry. We also do not have a cookie jar. Ich habe keine Keks Topf.

Got bless Brady & Melissa, then. Because there, adorning the front of our kleine (and sadly empty) fridge was one of their “house-warming” gifts and our one-and-only knick-knack.





Sometimes that is all it takes to make a house a… well, you know.

This morning I did the laundry. This afternoon I did the shopping, and when I was putting things away on the shelves of our entertainment-cabinet-cum-pantry I found the bag of Shoko-Orangenkekse left over from our picnic and still fresh, sealed up in a Ziploc “cookie bag”. I’m writing this blog in my underwear. It is good to be home.