I write this posting from my first home. The one where I grew up in Southern California. The one that was once a cream-colored stucco, but is now blue. The one where the sound of the fridge closing is as ingrained in my ear's memory as the doorbell.

But I am missing my home. My home made of brick and yards of grass. My home with chocolate walls, a king size bed, and an original (someday to be updated) 60's pink-tiled bathroom. My home with an awesome husband and adorable puppy girl. I miss them. I miss hearing Big Red pull into the driveway and watching Olive's ear's perk up as she hears him come in downstairs.

There are so many metaphors, poems, idioms, and songs about home. To many to list. I guess right now I'm just acknowledging that while I miss the friends and family I have left here in California to move to the East, I do not miss this particular home.

I've made my own now, one that's pretty damn comfortable.

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