Granted, I have been "home" almost all through these weeks of travel, because most of the time we stayed in Pauline convents, and since Thursday I have been at the home of them all, our motherhouse in Boston. Still. There's nothing like sleeping in your own bed (my back is so grateful for that). But there's more to it than that. As I opened the Liturgy of the Hours, I felt grateful not to be using just a borrowed copy, but the one that has all my favorite psalms marked with my own annotations. My prayerbook, not a "chapel copy," but the one that has people's names listed on the pages of the prayers proper to their needs. (Like Clayton, my cousin's son, and Ted, my sister's father-in-law, on the page with the Prayer to the Holy Spirit for Good Health.)
Although I am spending today playing the perennial game of catch-up, it was good to be back to a somewhat familiar schedule, too.
And there are Christmas cookies and gifts of fresh fruit and nuts in the refectory, too.
It's good to be home.