Home Again

In my monthly column for "The Tybee Beachcomber" (www.tybeebeachcomber.com) I wonder "why we long to be close to the Ocean, to stand on the Beach, with our feet in the water, with our backs turned to humanity and everything it's made or unmade."

There's a majestic Holiness to be found beside the Sea.

Arriving home from New York City last night, this is what we found.

Goddess is sick from overeating and has puked her guts out in the Living Room and our bedroom.

The girls dash to their clean rooms and trash them within nanoseconds.

My car won't start.

We have nothing for dinner so Sarah makes a quick run to Tybee Market which has been picked clean by tourists who brought in the New Year with a weekend on the island.

It was warm when we left and cold upon our return so the heat wasn't on and the house is freezing.

Sarah throws open the windows to get the smell of dog puke outside.

A mountain of bills are stuffed in the mailbox.

"It's good to be home," I sarcastically spew.

The girls didn't want to come, preferring their Grandparents apartment across the Hudson from the City where there's ice skating, good Pizza and shopping.

But work demands us so here we are.

Sarah helps me push my car out so we can hook the jumper cables up and pray that's all it is (I still wonder why a sandwich costs $17.95 in New York but I can buy a Rolex on the street for $6) because we let our AAA lapse.

Under a cold, pitch black sky with twinkling stars and, mercifully, no wind I hear the Ocean's roar as it loudly and sloppily kisses the Beach.

My car cranks.

I clean dog puke while Sarah cooks our make shift dinner.

The house slowly warms with heat.

The girls make their way towards the table.

Goddess wags her tail.

We are home.