And away we go.

Home.  A simple, yet pliable word.  I've now resided in my new abode for approximately two weeks.  My body, mind, and senses have adjusted to the point of recognition, and I'm becoming comfortable with the term "we" rather than "you" (i.e. do 'you' have oregano? - I really asked that).  In essence, I'm beginning to feel like a real human being again.  Not a bride, not a graduate, just me, an adult.  I'm finding my space. 


Throughout the past four years I have often pondered the meaning of personal space, particularly while living with fifteen other college students [for all four years].  My life could be packed up into an assortment of tubs and cardboard moving boxes in a matter of hours... to be transfered across the hall, up the stairs, or down south about 60 miles.  I moved every 3-4 months and lived with over 12 different roommates.  A constant, albeit quaint, reminder that home, in the earthly sense, is not constant.  The heavenly is constant.  


First gathering in my new home to take place tomorrow evening. A girls' night soirée, if you will.  What to serve still to be determined, but the important thing to take away is that I am having guests.  House guests. I'm old enough to entertain my own house guests. Can you say 'woah'?  Not in itself a significant right of passage, but it makes me wonder... what else am I old enough to do?  What am I not old enough to do (besides rent a car without incurring an additional daily fee)?  Can one ever be too old to do 'something'? I say nay.  I think age is on my side.