Two lives, one in Wyoming and one in Montana. In my younger years, I would have never predicted I would have freely chosen to do it. Two homes, two gardens, two places. Life has unique twists and curves it has thrown at us. We have had to learn how to bend around those curves.
Where is home, I ask myself sometimes? Home in Wyoming is the city street, the noisy traffic of the small residential street running through our backyard. It's the second mortage and the house we paid too much money for, but were glad to find. Work is here, the frustratingly bureaucratic job with its intermittently sparkling highlights, like that terminally ill veteran I eased into the everafter today. The satisfying hug from his daughter, who said "you are such a good doctor and I'm so glad he had you"
Home here is temporary, but for how long. Here is where our daughter came after college, to recover, to grown up. Here is were she found herself, perhaps, and the man who will make her happy everafter. We have dinner with them often. Was is meant to be?
Groomed, neatly cut lawn in Wyoming; wild grass and weeds in Montana. Colorful cultivated flowers in Wyoming, wild flowers and planted roses "up there". Gorgeous views and sunrises up there, necessary time down here. We're good here, happy there. JIR
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