Missing home

Never before have I missed home, never really had to even though no one in my family except me lived where I was raised in over a decade. I missed them but never missed home, until now.

We moved a whole hour from our home in Eastern Arkansas to Central Arkansas this summer, and there are many similarities, being that it's so close. The people are pretty much the same, friendly and respectful, and that has made the adjustment a lot easier for me.

I don't see anyone I know when I leave the house, though, and I really miss that. There's no one to wave to as I drive down the street. I don't know the children at school, I didn't go to school with their parents, and I didn't even go to that school.

Sometimes you take these things for granted when you are surrounded by them, when they are all you know, and then when this reassuring daily life isn't there anymore, you take notice. You even miss it.

It sure is tougher to get from one place to the other. Back home, in the small town of nearly 4,000 where I was raised and lived 35 years, it's a snap to get anywhere. You zip down the street to get to the school, you hop on the interstate to get to your next job.

Not so here in the "big city" of 60,000, not quite 250,000 if you count the adjoining twin city of 180,000. Traffic is everywhere; it's nearly impossible to cross the street just to drop the kids off at school not even a mile from the house. The places where you need to go are spread out further, too.

The place where I'm from is full of its idiosyncrasies, but something about it being home just makes me miss it. Thankfully it's only an hour away so we can visit fairly frequently.