It’s been pouring, literally pouring, for the last two days and oh, the wind that’s come with it! I can’t seem to get that song from Winnie-the-Pooh out of my head. It’s been drumming and thrumming there in spite of a long work day.
Ah, good old Pooh bear.
Days like these are meant to be spent at home, snuggled up on the couch with a good book or movie. Or, even better, snuggled up on the couch with my fiancé – that’s what I got to do yesterday afternoon when I felt a little under the weather, but not because of the weather. 😉
Instead, I spent 10 hours today, as usual, at work. Phooey. Especially phooey since my guy couldn’t work today (roofing really can’t be done in torrential downpours) and I kept thinking of how much fun it would be to run away and spend the day with him. Sometimes it stinks to be a responsible adult. 😉
Still, I love rainy days like these. Rainy fall days remind me of the time I spent in England a few years ago. It rained nearly every day during my 8 day visit. I’d forgotten to bring an umbrella (again!) and had to duck into a small Boots shop and buy an outrageous priced umbrella with brightly colored rainboots all over it. That little umbrella traveled from London to Bath to Essex with me and back home again, from England to New England. I remember it poured the entire time I went site-seeing in Bath with friends, puddles between the cobblestones. And then it drizzled my last day in London, cold and raw enough for us to take shelter in a Starbucks for a hot cup of coffee – and that was where we got the news that my great-grandmother had died back home that morning. I hid behind a newspaper covered with headlines about the US presidential election and cried.
Okay, that was a depressing note, I know, but honestly, my memories of London aren’t depressing me today. They’re bittersweet – with missing it just a bit – and beautiful. I think I fell in love with that country when I first visited it five years ago and I’ll always treasure my memories and time there – but, I also remember coming home two years ago and how beautiful the word ‘home’ was. England…as beautiful as it was and however much I would love to go back again…England isn’t home.
Home is a little valley in New England, where I can tell time by the chiming of the church bells up the street and where the factory keeps the town alive. Where the hills turn all shades of colors in the autumn and the locals rolls their eyes at the leaf-peepers every fall. Home is New England, where people trade their R’s for A’s and it’s an insult to be called a Yankee fan.
And home…they say ‘home is where the heart is’ and to quote Belle from Beauty and the Beast, “never were words so true.” Home is most especially here, in beautiful New England, because of a certain handsome fire-fighter who has won my heart.
Today, I might miss England just a bit, but for sure and certain, this girl is satisfied and done roaming. This is home.