We’re home now, but there are still areas of our lives (and our apartment) that aren’t quite back to normal yet. We still have possessions to replace (like a broom and dustpan), some of our clothing is still in a friend’s closet, there’s still one piece of our sectional couch that has yet to be delivered (it comes on Tuesday), and we’ll be sleeping on an air mattress for another two weeks before our bedroom furniture arrives.
I’m a bit worried about that last one because starting Monday (and for at least three weeks), our elevator will be out of commission for “modernization…” to quote the memo we got yesterday. So we will essentially be living in a fifth-floor walk-up when our bedroom furniture gets here—and we went for the platform bed with built-in storage (sigh). So I’m just hoping the deliverymen (or delivery-women) can get everything up the five flights of stairs and into our apartment, because I really want to be able to sleep on a bed again. And it would be nice to live out of drawers instead of suitcases and duffel bags.
But in many ways, it’s beginning to feel like home. We’ve had our first meals here, we’ve woken up and gone to work from here, and (perhaps the one that makes home feel most like home) we’ve entertained a handful of guests here. Somehow no matter how many things we unpack and/or assemble, no matter how many times we brush our teeth here or fall asleep in front of the television, it is the welcoming in of family and friends that most makes it feel like home again. And it is good to be home. There’s no place like it in the world.