steal my records...

I went with my parents to our friends' house tonight for supper. In junior high, their oldest daughter and I were inseperable and because our parents were good friends, their house and family were so familar to me, it was almost as though they were my own. Over the years we've keep in really good touch, even working together one summer. However, its been years since I'd seen some of their other kids and even longer since I had been at their farm. I showed up early, and played Apples To Apples with my friend and her sibilings. At first it was a little awkward. Its strange to come to a place that was so much a part of you and to people who knew you so well, but to be a different person. I didn't really know how exactly to act and how to relate to the sibilings who, though they were now in college, my last real interaction with them was when they were still in junior high. Somewhere in the first hour though, I settled into the rhythm of the place - as though I had never left. It was so comfortable and warm and familiar and it felt like home to be with them.

I left a few minutes after my parents and turned my normally 15 mintue drive into 25 just slowing down and taking in the moment. Cruising down the oiled country road in the dark, not a single other vehicle on the road the entire way home, listening to Ryan Adams as loud as the speakers would allow, every farmhouse lit up extra bright with their christmas lights that reflected off the snow drifts in the ditch...it was one of those moments that you can actually feel yourself, your soul expanding to encompass it.