I find the comfort of home

My right hand naturally reaches for the volume as I pull into the driveway. I reach up and smack the garage door opener.  I squeeze out of the car, overloaded with my belongings (which never seem to fit in one bag) and close the silver door behind me. I walk through the cluttered, but neat garage and open the white door into the house, “Whoooosh, creeeak, slam” it replies. I am home.

As I take my boots off and fling them into the pile of shoes, I notice there is no laundry in the mud room; probably less to do, since I no longer live here.  I drop my laundry basket down, and think, “I’ll get to it later.” 

I smell a mixture of pot roast and veggies, and freshly baked banana bread. She’s a multi-tasker, no doubt about that. She turns, with a bright smile, the kind that changes the shape of your whole face. I walk over for a hello hug. I find the comfort of home in her hugs.

I saunter into the family room and find him in his chair. Golf is on the big screen and I

realize my presence is minimal compared to the 14^th hole. I feel a nudge on the back of my legs and turn to see my big, yellow dog. Tail-wagging and excited to see me, I don’t even care that it was a delayed reaction; a hefty 100-pound Golden-Doodle asking me to play. 

I hear the familiar sounds of plates clanking and new packages being opened: hors d’oeuvres time. He’ll be here soon. I’m instructed to call ‘the others’ up. I yell down and make my way into the kitchen and dig into the hummus spread. I hear laughing and giggling coming up the basement stairs. Ah, the basement inhabitants (also known as, my brother and his girlfriend) heard my call and have come to join us. 

  

“Herrrreee!” my phone buzzes. The big, yellow dog barks and this confirms his arrival. I go to the front door and let him in. He’s mine and the newest addition to Sunday dinners. In my mind, it’s a pretty big deal to be invited to Sunday dinners; he may be new, but he’s special. 

All hands are on deck as we set the dining room table. Sounds fancy, but it really isn’t. With all of our (last-minute) help, dinner is on the table in a matter of seconds. We sit in our regular spots around the table, the same wicker-back chairs that we’ve had since I can remember. Riley finds his spot under the table. Mom declares we can eat. Dad passes around the pot roast. Alex grabs the bread basket. Cailin passes Alex the butter. Gordon reaches for the salad. I scoop up the vegetables. And the rotation begins. 

The conversation lasts longer than the dinner does. We have tea, baked goods and fruit for dessert. After dinner, we all lounge on the over sized couches and chairs. A new episode of Amazing Race. Another successful Sunday.