Home is where the Navy sends me;

            I'm not sure of the origin of that saying but I will say that it's the first thing I see when entering my foyer, as well as being prominently displayed on several of my coffee mugs.  I've had the pleasure of living in many beautiful, as well as some not so beautiful places over the last twenty-one years.  Looking back, it's hard for me to call any one of them home, but I also find myself thinking of all of them as home in some fashion.  Is home where I was born and raised?  Maybe, but I've been away from there longer than I actually lived there.  I used to call that faraway place in Michigan's Upper Peninsula home until reaching that critical milestone of having been gone for so long.  Perhaps "home" is where my wife and I rented our first apartment together, the place where we rented our first actual house (not an apartment or town house), where we actually purchased our first home or maybe even where our daughters were born.  The last one would be rather difficult seeing as they weren't born on the same coast, let alone the same state.  Maybe home is where I've lived the longest since actually leaving "home".  If that's the case then Virginia would be considered home for me.  I purchased my first house here, my oldest graduated high school here and my youngest has established herself here, collecting most of her adolescent memories in the Tidewater area.

            To me it's funny that I would consider the Tidewater area home as it's so radically different from where I grew up in the Upper Peninsula; which is affectionately known simply as the "U. P.".  To me it's almost like comparing two different planets.

In Michigan, it was over a seventy-five mile drive before getting to the first traffic light (that's changed some over the years and now it's only an eight mile drive).  We would always make a big deal of it whenever we took a trip, wondering what color the light would be when finally getting there.  It made no difference what the color was, slowing or actually coming to a stop after an hour and a half in the car was no big deal.  Unlike here in Tidewater, if the light was yellow we would slow and come to a stop as it turned red.  Here a yellow light literally means nothing and it's quite common to see two, three or even four cars flying though the intersection well after the light has turned red.  In my current neighborhood it's only a few blocks to the nearest light, and I can guarantee it's always red, unless of course I'm just loafing along on a Sunday afternoon, then it's sure to be green.  Often times I will slow and stop on the yellow while looking in the rearview mirror to see the looks of horror on the faces of the hurried drivers behind me.  Where they're going I have no idea, but it sure seems as though an extra two or three minutes added to their commute is surely the end of the world for them.

            Traffic patterns in general are very different here than in my small home town in Michigan.  Here, massive roads are the norm and seemingly go everywhere but it still can take over an hour just to cross town.  Back "home" in Michigan the roads are small and seemingly go nowhere.  One can drive for hours and never really go anywhere or even see another car for that matter.  The closest major freeway is a six hour drive; here I get upset if takes more than ten minutes to get on the freeway!  I do miss those long rides to nowhere though; there, a vehicle was actually a form of entertainment.  I would often get into my car and just go for a drive, sometimes to just get away and relax or even to waste away a rainy Saturday afternoon.  Here, sometimes just the thought of getting into the car can raise my blood pressure a few points.  I actually find myself planning errands around local traffic patterns as I can easily spend three to four times as much time in the car driving a few miles to pick up a gallon of milk and a loaf of bread as it takes me to actually purchase the items in the store.  Back in the U. P. I would never even consider looking at my watch before picking up the car keys.

            Another interesting difference between Upper Michigan and Virginia is the way in which homes are constructed.  My home in Virginia sits on concrete posts with a facade of bricks around the perimeter to hide what's underneath.  I have a small opening in the back of the house to access this dark, low and cramped space to perform any maintenance that may be required on the various mechanical systems that live there.  I never want to go under there and try to stay well clear, especially in the summer months.  The temperature can be unbearable and I don't even want to think of what types of critters have taken up residence.  I don't like spiders and have no desire to meet them on their home turf.  In the U. P. almost every house has a basement of some sort.  Some of the basements have low ceilings and are damp dark places used only for long term storage of items that probably will never be used again.  Some however, have been fixed up and converted into wonderful game rooms, media centers or even home gyms.  These areas are considered gathering spots and there are certainly no fears of meeting a poisonous spider or other types of crawly critters down there.  Some are fortunate and have their houses built into a hill which allows much better access to the basement area.  There may even be a garage door allowing a motorcycle to be stored in the winter or a snowmobile in the summer.  Here I'm lucky to just be able to get under my house fully sprawled out on my stomach with my face firmly planted in the moist, dark soil.  No wonder I've been putting off running that new telephone line into the family room.

            In Virginia the garage fulfills the function of the basement; some are cluttered with junk while others have been converted into wonderful family rooms, media rooms or maybe even a "man cave".  Here it's rare to ever see an actual car parked in the garage, however in the U. P. cars are routinely parked there, especially in the winter months.

            I have lived in Michigan, New York, South Carolina, California, Hawaii, Florida, Connecticut and Virginia.  After living in all of those places it should seem easy to look back and say with conviction that "X" is my home.  Well it's just not that easy.  Whenever I'm asked where I'm from I always pause and really have to think about it for a second or two.  I have to consider the context of the question, am I being asked where I'm from or merely where I live?  Those two questions when asked in that manner are very straight forward, I'm from Michigan, and I live in Virginia.  For most this would be a very simple question, for me it can be quite complex.  I have many great memories of all those other places and each one of them means something to me for different reasons but this state has become home to me in many ways.  So while where I'm from and where I live are worlds apart, in so many ways they both hold the same place in my heart, they are both considered "home" to me.