Over the last 150 days, I hosted a little family with a child receiving care at a local children’s hospital. My dog and I vacated in 2 days for them and relocated to our other home in Ventura.
We’re heading home this weekend, but have quietly grown attached to our new city.
There are places that change our lives.
And then there are places that quietly accompany them.
The coffee shop where I always sat in the corner.
The thrift store with collectible cookbooks.
The hole-in-the-wall restaurant that always remembers my order.
The park where my dog discovered squirrels, and now it’s referred to as ‘her’ park.
The farm stand where the jumbo cherries are.
None of these places belonged to me.
I was passing through.
Yet they’ve became part of my routine, then part of my comfort, and finally part of my story.
This week I wandered through them one last time playing tourist.
No agenda.
No shopping list.
No photographs for work.
Just a quiet thank you.
A few postcards.
A refrigerator magnet.
One more lunch.
One more walk.
One more browse through the cookbook shelf.
Leaving a place you’ve learned and grown with is bitter-sweet.
You don't usually miss the landmarks.
You miss knowing exactly where to park.
Which road has the prettiest trees.
What time the ocean breezes are perfect and balmy.
Which bakery sells out early.
Those are the things that quietly become home. Offering little routines that become memories. When I return home this week, I'll bring more than a few thrifted treasures.
I'll bring slower mornings. The confidence to wander without needing to accomplish something. And somewhere on my refrigerator, several magnets that reminds me that, for a little while, this place was part of my life too.
See you next week.