Although we’ve been home for a few weeks now, I’m still humming the Simon & Garfunkel song that starts out, “Gee but it’s great to be back home.” After three weeks on the road and almost 4,000 miles on the odometer, it was, indeed, great to be back home.
But I’d do it again in a heartbeat. In the three weeks we were gone, my husband and I visited with family in Chicago and Minnesota, then drove down to Dallas for a convention, and finally headed to New Orleans for a few days before returning home.
The long weekend spent with our son, daughter-in-law, and grandkids brought lots of hugs, laughs, photos, and memories that we’ll cherish forever. And visits with my sisters included the perennial question of “How long has it been since we’ve seen each other in person?” The answer was always, “Too long!”
On our way to Dallas, we passed through Oklahoma City and stopped at the National Memorial honoring the victims of the 1995 bombing of the Alfred P. Murrah Federal Building. I expected it to be an emotional experience, but I wasn’t prepared for how powerfully I would be affected by the sight of the Field of Empty Chairs: nine rows of chairs made of glass, bronze, and stone, each one representing—and inscribed with the name of—one of the people who died in the explosion that day.
New Orleans was on our itinerary because my husband had never been there, and the city has been on his bucket list for years. In addition to simply strolling through the French Quarter and enjoying the food, our two must-do visits were to the National World War II Museum, and to Café Du Monde—the oldest coffee stand in the country—for a serving of their world-famous coffee and beignets.
As with the memorial at the site of the Oklahoma City bombing, I was overwhelmed with emotion at the World War II Museum. Exhibits and activities brought to life virtually every aspect of the war in a way that’s impossible to describe. A movie in one of the pavilions left me in tears, and I know—from the sobs and sniffles I heard in the darkened theater—I was not the only one.
Whether we were reconnecting with family, or reconnecting with a part of our country’s history, we enjoyed everything, everyone, and everywhere our travels took us. And in one of those strange and silly coincidences, I was standing at the sink in a museum restroom when I met someone who was from the same town we lived in for 18 years before moving to Georgia.
Yes, it’s great to be back home. But I’ve come to realize that no matter where I am in this big, beautiful country of ours, I’m always at home.
August 9, 2024
©Betty Liedtke, 2024
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