Home is Where Your History Begins

The place I call home is a city smack dab between Tampa and Orlando, Florida. After the Republican National Convention, Mitt Romney and Paul Ryan made a stop here before they flew to their next destination. A few years ago,  a group of girls beat their peer up and video taped it to put on Myspace. A while before that, a police officer and his canine counterpart, Diogi, unjustly died while serving, creating an uproar of support and encouragement from people around the world. It is a mecca for retirees, snowbirds, and those who work in the big city but do not see the appeal in living in it.

My home is Lakeland, Florida and I wouldn't have it any other way.

I have always loved Lakeland, but I knew in order to "do my thing" and really appreciate my hometown, I would have to leave. After high school graduation, that is just what I did.

Do you want to know the first thing I did when I drove home after being at college for just 2 months? I bawled. Oh, did I bawl! As soon as I pulled off of Interstate 4 onto familiar roads and started making my way down the roads to my house, there was just no stopping those good ol' female floodgates of tears.

I don't cry every time I go home now (Thank the Lord!), but I do look forward to my trips for about a month leading up to them. Last week, I was able to spend a few days at home prior to my birthday and it was a great time. Both of my brothers were there, got to see my new niece again, and of course partake in lots of celebratory things to ring in my new age [read: I am finally starting to feel old and need distractions!]

And now, enjoy an influx of photos...

I am glad to be back to my "new" home and into my daily grind again, but I always welcome a great break to my tried and true.

I am reminded of a quote from one of my apologetically favorite movies, Where the Heart Is:

"Home is where your history begins. Home is where they catch you when you fall."