Cry to remember...

33000 feet.  Post Hawaii.  Pre home. Just finished watching "Mamma Mia" for the nth time.  Absolutely love ABBA.  Likewise Meryl Streep.  For some reason, I discovered that I had tears in my eyes.  Of course, it could just be the hours waiting for and riding the plane.  Tiredness coupled with restless rump could bring tears to anyone's eyes.  (It certainly seems to be having that effect on the youngster in the row ahead!).   It could be we just flew over Sioux Falls on our way to Atlanta...to board another plane to take us to Sioux Falls!  It could be a result of the anti-climactic doldrums that affect me at the end of an adventure.  It might even be the knowledge that the Delta cookies won't be available after today (sad face!).  Whatever the cause, they precipitated a period of reflection.  When we get home, the house will be empty.  No four legs to meet us.  That pain remains.  When we get home, there will be no amazing tropical flowers to perfume the air and titillate the olfactory.  When we get home, there will not be a cadre of like-minded hikers commenting on the day's adventure.  And the eyes well up.  I turn to my left, and there, in quasi sleep mode is the woman I love.  She makes home, home.  She is the stability that guarantees even though I may not deserve it, she will recognize the best in me.  And I realize the tears are not sadness, but joy...in how lucky we are to have a home to go to; of how lucky we are to be able to have amazing adventures; of how lucky we are to have friends who recognize just who and what we are.  Deep sigh!  I am indeed blessed.  I am also a sentimental old fart!  And I can live with that.  Even at 33000 feet!