When I was young, going to my grandmothers (both of them) was a treat. There was candy in the fridge where the butter lived in ours, and I'd always go home with something. Even if it was just a can of generic green beans.
In college, going "home" was the same experience. Free laundry, home cooked meals, and people that "got" me.
In this season of my life, I feel something similar when I go to my mom and stepdads ranch. It's difficult to define with words. Instead, it's things or feelings. A Dublin Dr. Pepper, a front porch swing, fresh fruit for A, wine and cheese hour. An escape.
An escape from the work phone, from crowded metro areas, from the everyday worries, from my dads cancer.
Even though reality lies in wait, inside the barb wire fence, I'm free.
As Brer Rabbit would say, everybody needs a laughing place. I'm glad my house is that place for you. No matter your age, "mama" should always be a sanctuary. (and grandma)
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