Red Roses and Red Roofs

It’s been a long week for me. Work took me away to Las Vegas with several thousand other people that work for the same company I do.

Please don’t get misunderstand me, I am incredibly grateful for the career I have and the wonderful people I work with every day.  Las Vegas, however, is sensory overload for me.

Noise, smoke, elevators, clanking, bells, and people that are also so overloaded with all the visual and auditory stimulation around them that they simply stop and block your efforts to walk from one meeting to another to get through the week of meeting upon meeting.  Just finding a path through the crowds takes its toll on me by the second hour of the first day and I begin the countdown until I am able to be home again.

This morning I have been blessed to sit here at my desk while trying to catch up on emails.  The only noise in the house is the washing machine working through the pile of laundry I’ve released to it from my suitcase.  Our two cats are asleep at my feet and my newly adopted betta fish, Sam, is blowing bubbles and rushing to greet my finger every time I place it against his aquarium that sits here next to my computer.

My husband kissed my forehead goodbye earlier as he headed off to work while I was slowly waking from a twelve-hour coma that attempted to make up for all the sleep I could not manage in a strange bed for the last four nights. Life is slowly coming back to my normal this Saturday morning.

As I’ve mentioned before here, our neighborhood is in transition.  It changes from day to day as old crumbling houses are razed and new contemporary three and four story patio homes go up. Being absent during a full workweek can change the view from your window to something totally different.  It can make that absence feel more like a few months than a few days. Trees have been felled, fences have been built, and suddenly your familiar must become new.

The constant is here within our house.  Love, quiet, and comfort of “what you know for sure” will soothe the stress out of your travel weary limbs.

As I made my way out of bed to the kitchen for coffee, I smiled at the beautiful red roses my sweet husband made sure were waiting for me when I walked in the door yesterday.  The note, “Welcome Home!” still next to them.  It almost makes it worth being gone to know that you are missed.  Almost.

Taking my coffee to the window this cloudy day, I had to blink a few times to reconcile the view.  A red tile roof.  A small house with a red tile roof. When I left last Monday morning, I would not have been able to see it.  Now, with the tree and the house that were formerly next to it gone, it stands alone as a pop of color against the gray morning.

The new familiar.