home sweet home

I woke up twice during the night, straining to hear the soft sounds of waves lapping along the shoreline, their soothing swells lulling me back into sleepy slumber; to hear the wind rustling through the trees, their branches ever-so-gently stroking the bedroom windowpanes in a midnight caress.

It was disorienting to hear the sound of cars whizzing down our busy street.

We have returned from the cottage. Another perfectly magical trip, this time lasting almost a full week. Initially, we were joined for the weekend by J.'s sister. What an amazing bonding experience it was for all three of us, filled with hours of laughter, innumerable stories, delicious meals and constantly replenished drinks. It's a rare occurrence to have adult siblings be able to spend that much concentrated time together. It was a privilege for me to witness their closeness and their genuine affection for each other; and to feel without a doubt absolute affirmation in my role as an integral part of their lives both now and in the future.

To give but one example of the fun we had: by 4:30am on Sunday morning, J. was asleep on the living room carpet while A. and I bravely ventured down to the dock for belated midnight patrol* just as a huge thunderstorm began. Bearing a single flashlight, a twice-extinguished citronella candle and several towels with which to wrap ourselves, we managed to make our down the rocky embankment, brave the waves for a 10-second dip, and run back up to to the cottage. J. had slept right through it, and when we kindly woke him from the floor to get him into bed, he didn't believe it. In fact, he was so incredulous that he decided it was worth an individual interrogation of each of us: what time did we leave? what time did we get back? who held the flashlight? who jumped in first? how long were we actually in the water? what did we talk about? It was hysterical.

*Cottage tradition dictates that, apart from the usual mid-afternoon, sun-high-in-the-sky swim that is a fairly standard part of cottage life, the following swim times must also take place, rain or shine:
dawn patrol: morning swim, occurring immediately upon waking.
dusk patrol: sunset swim, usually after dinner.
midnight patrol: before-bed swim, in pitch black, requiring flashlights.

After A. left, it was four days of heaven. I know I've mentioned it before, but I continue to be amazed at the easy camaraderie, the effortless rapport that J. and I share. It's pure bliss to spend that much time away with him. We don't get tired of each other, or bored in each others' company. There are rarely harsh words, irritations, disagreements. Instead, there are deep discussions on life and love and the future. Slow dancing barefoot in the moonlight-bathed living room after dinner one night. Falling asleep to the sound of rain, curled up together on the couch. Lying lazily in bed until noon one cold morning, watching the sun play hide-and-seek with the clouds outside. Skinny dipping in broad daylight for the thrill of it, even with no one around.

I won't lie - it was hard to leave. Harder still because there's the possibility that J.'s cottage will be sold this year, and that might have been our last time there. We each had our moment before we left yesterday afternoon; for J., his memories date from childhood: family vacations, great party weekends, a getaway spot for good friends, and now, most recently, an intimate retreat for the two of us each of the last three summers. For me, it marks a place where I have truly learned to love, learned to trust, learned to be comfortable in my own skin, and learned to unequivocally accept my life and relish with gratefulness every second that I have.

Tears banished, we returned home last night. Home. To our apartment, our home. Walking through the door, laden with all of our bags and blankets and boxes, we grinned as we looked around at this amazing place we've created together.

Maybe it's traffic noise we hear at night, not chirping crickets and the cadence of cresting waves. But it's still the same wonderful J. I curl up next to; J., who, with his gentle arms and thoughtful words, has made home the very best place to be.
He is my home sweet home. No matter where that is.

I thought I would finally dare to post a photo.
This is my J. Isn't he just scrumptious?

J. and I, relaxed and happy at the cottage.