Home For The Holidays

Home for the holidays isn’t one big moment. It’s made up of small things that repeat themselves until they start to feel like memory.

For me, it smells like wood smoke and pancakes and bacon cooked for supper. It looks like movie nights every night in December, all of us in pajamas, piled together. Those are the moments my mind goes back to when I’m having a long day — the ordinary rhythms that remind me where I belong.