Things have been a little hectic here in Minnesota, where the whole Christmas machine is well-oiled and constantly needs more kulich, sausage, Wisconsin cheddar, and another log on the fire. I've noticed that John slinks off to the computer while I've taken to hiding behind my bed with the cell phone when the reclusive Schley traits take over. I miss my family, really, although I can't imagine what it would like to be with them, especially all in the same room. Or even spread out in differerent rooms over different days.
There is something about this Christmas, though, that has made me miss home. Portland, Oregon home--rain instead of snow, peace signs on roofs fashioned of Christmas lights, services at Saint Nicholas, paganish Portlanders celebrating Christmas with coffee and the Beattles.
Nonetheless, I think that home can made be anywhere--that a sense of place is not just familiar geography and cultural understanding. I talked to Veronika in Moscow this morning (she doesn't celebrate Christmas until January 7th), and her voice is also home. As is Rachel's, who's celebrating Christmas this year with walks on the beach in California. And this year home is made here in Minneapolis again, with my best friend, goddaughter, and the newly born Natalie.
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