So I am feeling a split lately that is somewhat disconcerting, yet also not unexpected (love the double negatives for their poetic quality). I feel equally at home in two places, both Durango and Torrey, to the point where it is a bit maddening. I went to Durango over the weekend and couldn't wait to return to live there, considered it one of my homes, and realized that I love it, to the point that as I drove back to Torrey (last night), I actually felt resistance to returning to Utah! Then, today, as I walked over the bridge leading to Robber's Roost Bookstore across the water canal channeling Fremont River water, I also felt at home, comfortable, loving this place, and knowing that I could settle here again.
Feh. I fling up my hands in delighted frustration. I know I am returning to Durango, I really like it there. But the moment, here in Torrey among the storm-tossed cliffs and the striving rainbows, I am enjoying myself and will explore, live, and stay in the moment, for as long as I have it. Not too bad, eh?
And when I head to California tomorrow, I plan to thoroughly enjoy the places and people there too! I can't wait to go to the farmer's market and be utterly whomped by all the colorful sights and sounds and smells of the people there, and hike in the heated foothills rising through the haze above Los Angeles, and browse the public library bookstore and lose myself in a thousand possible tales.
Who says one cannot call more than one place Home? I certainly can, and I do. Besides, for a writer, it adds spice, creativity, new experiences, and a never-ending font (fount?) of ideas. Such as, at this moment, there are two separate couples sitting here at the Roost, each sipping coffee, perusing books or maps, and speaking English with voices not from here--not even from this country. I can sit and unobtrusively examine them, and make up stories about them, and perhaps one day see them creep into a character or tale, adding their own piece of life to those I create with this keyboard. Then in Durango, I can laze by the banks of the Animas or fly (not completely gracefully, yet) down the slopes at Purgatory and see other people, other lives, and learn or guess from them and create yet more people for my stories.... Pretty cool, really.
And then there's my own family, which sometimes gives me drama close to Home! Such as discovering that my cousin's wife may have ties to a criminally-inclined family in a southern country.... So bizarre, really. And for a writer, endlessly fascinating.
Although I also am ready to settle into one place again, more permanently. And set up my little writing nook, and create, create, create....