Home

Last week our family returned home to Arizona for the first time in a long while, and I'll admit, part of me was tugged back to the Bay Area, kicking and screaming (to the beat of honking horns and greedy landlords evicting tenants). I'm inspired by those people who feel at home in any place they find themselves. But that's never really been me. After two years, I still long for the smell of creosotes after a rain. I miss being wrapped tightly by a blanket of protective mountains as I go to sleep each night. It's also a place where family is in every corner, which includes friends who have become family.

We lived it large in the desert while it lasted: a full week staying with wonderful friends who fed us tacos by day and spent their evenings chatting with us, stroking a guitar while rain hummed on the roof. We also saw two dear friends get married, and visited my sister along with the best cousins Little Butterfly could ask for. I can't tell you how many times my sister and I would look at one another as the kids were playing together and squeal, "sis, it's all happening!"

Ah. Yet I returned home and sleepily looked up to see the sign pointing to San Francisco, my eyes bolted open and a smile grazed my lips. There are few things more thrilling than that.