Welcome mat

Why, hello. No, no; I'm glad you stopped by. It's good to see you here.

It's been a week of reunions on-line and off, with more on the horizon: old friends (including one really old friend, which: wow), the San Antonio clan, the forty acres, a host of familiar faces, young and old, from the kids' school...

... and everything autumn, even though I know that summer will linger 'round the edges for another month or two, at least.

Doesn't matter; I love this time of year. Spring gets all the credit for new beginnings, and not without reason, but autumn: that's a stack of new spiral notebooks just waiting to be filled with thoughts and hopes and dreams that have yet to be imagined.

Fresh-faced potential. Delicious possibility.

The truth is that I always feel nostalgic walking 'round my campus of choice, but last weekend was especially weighted with meaning and emotion and sweet, misty sentiment.

Twenty years, said the voice in my head at nearly every turn.

Twenty years ago, in what may have been the only truly independent decision of my life, I drove from Vicksburg to Austin to start anew. I had fallen head-over-heels in love with the town... and I had faith that the town would love me, too.

It didn't let me down.

I found love: the real deal. I found direction. I found illumination. I found myself. I found the path to my entire life within those forty idyllic acres, in that bright and shiny time.

Now I'm back in this town, just a little north. It's home and it's good, but I imagine that a part of me will always miss Austin, all of my days.

It's here, to this town, where my mom will come for a day this week, to have what we hope will be the doctor's visit that assuages all of our worst fears.

And a few days later, some of my dearest friends will gather in celebration and memory of the apple-cheeked baby girl who, improbably, brought us all together.

I welcome the reunions; I cherish the connections to my past. And I hold my arms open to whatever or whomever arrives on my front step next.