She’s here. The light of my life, the light of her father’s life, is here. She is here and she is in our house, sleeping under the same roof, breathing the same air. After a long year abroad she is visiting for a week. We get a week of visiting, shopping, eating favorite foods, and breathing the same air until she has to go back again, home to her husband and their very interesting lives. I am not sure how you compare life at home with a life spent with very smart people, traveling the European continent, and where food options don’t include macaroni or Welch’s grape jelly. But sitting in the same room breathing the same air is filled with great satisfaction and great love. I love to look at her facial expressions, and her expressive hands as she talks. I am amused at myself for being amused by the stuff she is leaving laying around, as if she is right at home…and she IS! And we’ve sparred a bit which is also amusing and a sign of home. I love her here at home but I love that she has a life and can live far away. It makes breathing the same air all the more sweet.