It was a challenge to find things to do to keep myself busy without the demands of school and work. Here's what I did:
- I spent part of a day cutting boards and feeding them under the house to my dad, who was reinforcing our kitchen floor so that it will be strong enough to be covered with stone.
- I spent a few days researching digital cameras and finally purchased one. (More on that in a later post.)
- I went camping with my dad and my youngest brother.
- I bought some clothes (since I have a car here!).
- I started learning about Mac programming using Xcode and Objective-C.
- I played with my brother's bird Fluffy.
- I babysat my brother.
It's strange how the concept of "home" has changed for me as I've grown older. I remember each place that my family has lived, and each has felt like home to me. We moved to Portland when I was about six and my parents have lived ever since in the same house. That's been home to me for a long time. Even when I went to college as a freshman and when I was a missionary in Texas, Portland was home. I came "home" for Christmas and after my first year of school and after my mission.
This time, however, it hasn't felt so much like I've come home, but rather that I left my home in Utah to visit my parents' home. It's a bit of a strange feeling. I'm not quite sure what caused me to change. It's certainly nothing that my parents have done; they're as welcoming as ever. A couple of my siblings were absent this time, but they've been absent before when I've been home. I think I'm just getting older and coming to identify myself more as myself, rather than solely as a member of my family. I'll always be part of my family, but I think that, five years after I first moved away from home, I'm beginning to see myself as a separate person. Even with its sagging couch, sometimes-dirty sink, and cramped quarters, my apartment in Utah has been my "home".
(Sorry, no word of the day today.)