A couple of nights ago, Monday to be exact, when Windsor and I returned from our quick tour of some of the south South Island two words struck me and have continued to replay in my mind since that event.  Sydney 's roommate, Kris, frankly stated, "Welcome home," as I walked in with heaps of stuff in my arms.  At the time I merely passed it off, but as I start thinking about my flight home in a week it continues to play in my mind. 

Here I am - a guest in a house that seems to have a never ending list of faces that reside there, yet am welcomed home.  I took my bed consisting of my sleeping back and thermarest with me on the road trip removing any evidence that I had been there or would return.  The people, beyond Sydney , would soon forget my name and face from the brief couple days I was there - yet it was home when I came back.  I have caught myself saying it since then - "Let's go home..."  "I've left my passport at home..." Surprisingly it all fits. 

Maybe that is what it is about, a place that fits the needs of the moment.  That moment may linger into days, months, years; yet the familiarity is the aspect that creates the feeling of home.  The knowledge that you will be warm and dry, know where to find food and cutlery, have people that care about you to share experiences with.  These are the things that make up home - not the place.  Although I will be coming home in seven days, right now I feel at home.

The hanging out.  The flat dinners to send off people properly before going home.  Going for coffee.  The rides that Sydney and I have taken around Christchurch with some of her friends.  The invites from her friends to join them while she works. Planning diner.  Having friends over.  Watching movies.  Drinking tea.  Going on beer runs. Complaining about the weather.  These are all things I'd expect to have at home -- here they are.

jS