Wherever We Are, We're Home

We were sitting at a picnic table eating lunch in Quartzsite, having plunked ourselves down with another couple. We exchanged basic information (who we are, where we're from). When they learned we live full time in our motorhome, the woman said, jerking her head toward her husband, "He could do that in a minute, but I couldn't. I need a home."

Now there's a cliche amoung full-timers that goes, "Home is where you park it." And like many cliches, it's true. Because wherever we are, we're home. From Oceanside, California to Portland, Maine, when our day is over and we've finished exploring/shopping/whatever, we say "Let's go home" and we do.

If the scenery is lovely and the neighbors are pleasant and their dogs don't bark a lot, we're comfortable with the blinds and drapes open. When it's dreary outside, we can close out the weather. When the karaoke gets too loud at the clubhouse, we can close the windows and turn on the air.

There were the usual questions about mail, banking, keeping in touch, paying bills, all easily answered now that we've been "homeless" for a year and a half.

Basically, though, home is what you make it, wherever it is, and wherever you park it!