Raymond and I spent several days back in Montreal this week – where we lived before we moved to the Manse in Queensborough. We had a lovely time celebrating the festive season with family and friends. But for the past couple of days I’ve been waking up feeling oddly out of sorts, and yesterday morning it dawned on me what the problem was.
I was homesick.
Now, I am the kind of person who tends to be happy wherever I am. That is, when I’m in one place, generally I don’t wish I were in another instead. And I don’t think I’d felt homesick since – well, since I don’t know when. Maybe since I was a kid at camp. (I hated camp.) And that, people, was not exactly yesterday.
So my homesickness was diagnosed. And this morning all I could think of when I woke up in Montreal was, “I want to go home!”
I am very happy to report that that’s where we now find ourselves. I have unpacked my bags, put the books I’m reading back beside the bed, and greeted Sieste the cat (who stayed behind to look after things) warmly. Again and again and again.
It is so good to be home!