It’s where, when you get there, your husband cooks you turkey “meat muffins”—little turkey meatballs with a mushroom inside each one, lovingly baked in a muffin tin.
And where there is still some of your very own homemade ketchup hiding in the fridge to plop on them.
It’s where said husband has discovered High Road Red Berries & Prosecco Sorbet and bought a pint for you.
It’s where there’s not one but TWO safe chocolate bars waiting for you in the cabinet.
And where that same cabinet is stocked, nay, overflowing, with nearly every kind of crazy flour and binder a girl could hope to experiment with. (After 10 days, I am so craving something bready or baked, even something that totally flops.)
Home is where Whole Foods is down the road, and so is OUR food co-op, and also Trader Joe’s, even though I keep striking out there for allergen-free treats.
Home is where, God help me, I don’t have to settle for an orange and potato chips in a “Vermont Country Store” for lunch.
It’s where a week from tomorrow, a scope will answer all of my questions. Right? Sure, right.
Oh, home, so good to see ya’ again!