poke poke

My parents are building a new house in the city that has been most familiar to me for thirteen years. It is the fifth house they will have lived in in that city, and my mom has sent me pictures as it all comes together. I loved one from this weekend, of the dining/living room. So much light light light. 

The backyard is wooded now, but it will be someone else's backyard in five-ish years (as the neighborhood expands). At least there will not be a dumpster in the backyard in a few months.

Talking about this new house pokes my heart in the place labeled "home." I have had so many homes. I have so many homes. As a person who has and does spread herself out over many places, it is hard for me to pick a place that is more "home" than the next runner up.

I would not complain about that; I'd rather love people and places all over the world than not know them. And I would rather be an independent adult than have to go through high school and college again. But it is hard to say I'm ever going home, since I have so many homes... And that can feel a little exhausting. 

Good thing I have a true gift when it comes to living out of suitcases/backpacks/backpockets.