Be it ever so humble

“And Home
Sings me of sweet things
My life there has its own wings
To fly over the mountains
Though I’m standing still”

So begins Karla Bonoff from her song ‘Home,’ and with it comes a multitude of thoughts. Home is a physical location, but it is also where the heart truly is. I called the Northeast home for 68 of my 73 (and counting) years. Recently, we returned from a quick trip back “up” to see a show and spend a bit of time revisiting the people, places and things that tug at the heartstrings.

The trip began with an easy drive to Savannah Airport, even easier parking and, after a short walk to the terminal, a very quick jaunt through TSA. Full disclosure: We do have TSA PreCheck, but even the regular line was moving quickly. The flight was on time and comfortable. Even the landing and taxiing at JFK were smooth.

Then the true adventure began:trying to get from Terminal 5, where ongoing road closures have eliminated rideshare and taxi pickup at the terminal, to our hotel in midtown Manhattan. A lengthy, though well-signed, walk led us to the taxi stand, and we were able to get a cab pretty easily. We had other options, but all of them involved multiple changes, and even with carry-on luggage only, it was not something we wanted to do.

Upon arrival, we sought out a bona fide Sicilian slice. We then checked into our hotel and went upstairs to find the tiniest room we have ever stayed in. We laughed heartily at how noisy it was on the 21st floor from the various city sounds. As we got ready to meet friends for dinner at Keens Steakhouse, the city was every bit as loud, crowded and energetic as I remembered. Yet despite the noise and the crowded streets, the heartbeat and lifeblood of the city brought back good memories.

The next day started with bagels and cream cheese that you can only get there. The day was then spent relaxing and getting ready to meet yet another friend for an early dinner before heading off to the three-hour, soul-cleansing show we had made the trip to see.

Still enjoying the afterglow of the night before, breakfast was the classic bacon, egg and cheese with salt, pepper and ketchup on a hard roll, again something native to the locale and never to be missed. It was then off to a hotel closer to JFK since our flight out the following morning was at 7 a.m. and, unlike the trip from Bluffton to Savannah, traffic is always an issue.

Having been warned about timing at JFK, we had a cab pick us up at 5 a.m. This time, the joke was on us. Again, it took less than four minutes to get through TSA, only to leave us with almost two hours to sit in an incredibly loud, crowded and freezing-cold terminal. The good news was that the flight was atypically uncrowded, and all went well.

Spending time at “home” was filled with memories, nostalgia and joy. Yet the easy drive back from Savannah reminded me that home is not just where you’ve been. It is also where you choose to be.

Let’s let Bruce play us out on this one:
“Son, we’re lucky in this town,

Kevin Fitzpatrick is a retired teacher who, along with his wife Sue (also a retired teacher) is enjoying exploring life in the Lowcountry and all it has to offer.