Home is where you make it

Tomorrow I'm headed out of town to visit my parents for a couple days. It's probably about time considering I haven't seen them since a shortly after Christmas. I've been busy. They've been busy. This weekend works well for me and probably is what I need to unwind from a summer that has been busier at the office than I anticipated.

My parents bought and moved into a new house a little less than a month ago, so this will be my first time at the place. It's also the first house that I expect to feel more like a home than the last two places they've lived over the previous ten(?) years. My mother's last two pastorates meant that she and my dad lived in parsonages. Sure, they decorated as they wanted and made the places their own, so to speak, but in a sense--and in reality--these were temporary living quarters. They would not be occupied when the job ended.

This isn't to say that I felt uncomfortable in either of those houses, although the last one left something to be desired with its lone bathroom. (This did not cut it at holiday time with up to seven people under one roof.) Still, there was no sense of being rooted, which is what I think of when I think of home. In my mind, going to wherever my parents live is going home. (I distinguish this, though, from where I'm from, which is locked in time and place as where I grew up.)

So I'm curious to get a look at their new place, the building they own, for a change. From what I understand it has a lot of room, more than either of the two homes I lived in as a kid. (It's also 60-90 minutes closer than the last place they lived, which doesn't hurt, especially at wintertime.) I won't be there long, but it will be nice to get familiarized with the new family base.