My Home is in my Heart.

My Home is in my Heart.

I am half way around the world from where I live. I flew from British Columbia to Ontario to see two brothers, their wives, and my ninety year old mother, who just recovered from covid. She is amazing. From there, I ventured to Halifax to my son and his wife's house. I had not seen them in person since before covid, and I sadly missed their wedding due to travel restrictions. I spent ten wonderful days there before leaving Willow, and flying to Dubai to see my oldest daughter, Chelsea, to meet my new granddaughter, and to see my grandson.

Each stop, each visit, has exceeded my expectations, and I remind myself daily to be in the moment, not waste time or energy missing anything or anybody, and to be fully present wherever I am. "My home is in my heart," has become my mantra, and I think about how much of life we can miss if we are distracted. Life feels precious, and at sixty-one I do not want to miss a moment.

Each day by five, or five thirty a.m., I wake to the sound of a crying baby. My granddaughter Adelyn is a year and a half now, and although I missed the early months because of covid, I am making up for it with a six week visit. Often, I am told, in the night, she simply needs a hand on her to comfort her, before she falls back to sleep. I, as Nana, listen as one of her parents goes in to comfort her, and I do not rise until at least seven, as I have learned that I cannot get through the day otherwise. It is during the days that I try to spend time with both children, and in the moment am also the taxi driver.

They are car shopping, and have lived in this country for about six weeks. As a tourist I am allowed to drive while they wait for UAE I.D.'s to arrive. I take my son-in-law to work, Atreus to Chinese school (he is fluent in Mandarin at three and a half), and then Chelsea and I to whatever place we need to go. She starts work next week.

I am learning to drive in a city of "U" turns, and a sky full of sand, and I look forward to every outing, from the grocery store with many different foods, to the turquoise ocean. I don't mind the heat, although it is often 40-50 degrees, and feels like a wall of energy as you come out of a door. Over jet-lag, finally, I have now begun to write and edit again. Today, I thought I would write a blog. For me, creativity flows easily. Sleep is essential however, before I can manage more than stumbling through my day (which was my night). Jet lag behind me I go on. "My home is in my heart," as I write this, and I am grateful for an amazingly interesting life.

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