Come Home to You

JohnHiattDirtyJeansMudslideHymns

There’s a song off John Hiatt’s The Tiki Bar is Open that means a great deal to me. It’s called “Come Home to You”. When I was driving a long commute and a combination of our financial woes and slaving in the cubicles have driven me to the brink of despair I’d put that on and it would get me home, back to our little apartment and the person who mattered most in my life. Early last week I was burning CDs for a road trip and I included that song. It just seemed to fit.

Our road trip was a drive to Minneapolis for the wedding of Carjo’s bestest friend’s youngest daughter. We stayed with our friend Sassy who is always hospitable. I got to meet with some of the characters I used to work with for lunch, Friday night we met friends and my former office wives at a great Cuban restaurant. We stopped by my brother’s where I got an excellent IPA and a lecture on the importance of icing my ankle. We managed to do major stocking up at Trader Joe’s, Costco, and the Four Firkins microbrew store (more on that tomorrow). The wedding itself was a beautiful ceremony and the reception was in a club that overlooked the placid waters of Lake Minnetonka. We left the reception early. Carjo’s social anxieties were rubbed raw and my ankle was starting to kill me.  

Sunday we drove home. Carjo was a shell of herself after being “on” all weekend. I played that Hiatt song while she slept, swearing to get her home in one piece. We got home after 9:00 that night, with drizzle pissing down the last hundred n’ fifty miles. The cats were besides themselves having filled their litter boxes to the brim, exhausted most of their food and nearly all of their water. I poured what was left of my wife into bed and partially unloaded the Family Truckster until the rain got too intense for that. While I was sitting at my computer, drinking a porter and trying to unwind, the power went out. So I went to bed and slept well, barely waking up for the power coming back on in the middle of the night. Nothing mattered, we were home. Sansa slept between our legs and Sneakers up by our heads. All was well.

This morning I was unpacking my duffel bag I discovered that Jasper had peed in it. Welcome home indeed. 

About jeroljohnson

I guess I'm the crying on the inside kind of clown
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One Response to Come Home to You

  1. Kathy says:

    Sounds like Jasper is taking on some of Pippin’s “wonderful” habits!

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