When you start looking for another place to live, you think of what “home” is really like. Right now, I have three places I think of as Home.
“Home-home” is (and probably always will be) where I grew up, and where my parents still live. It is where sentimental “stuff” is stored; things I can't just throw out, and that are safely tucked away. It is where I left my dog when I moved to an apartment; where he and my parents took care of each other. It will always mean Saturday pancakes followed by chores. It means hikes in the buttes, strolls in the orchards, and horse-back riding on the levees.
Another home is where I have lived for the last twenty years. It is where Rick and I met and married; where I grew into the person I am. It means the scent of the ocean, the sound of the waves crashing, and long drives with the top down. It means long hours of work, with excellent people, exhilaration when a bug is fixed, when others share a discovery, and celebratory coffee trips.
As we get ready to leave Orosí, I know we will cherish memories of visits with our neighbors, the scenery, birdsong, and the pace of life; where walking down the street means impromptu visits and scatterings of “adiós” and “buenas.” We have left enough things not-yet-done to give us excuses to return.