Virginia is for L♥vers

As I opened the latest Southern Living magazine, I was surprised to see an article about a weekend trip in the Shenandoah Valley. The first day of the trip was entitled: Buena Vista to Lexington (16 miles). This was my beloved Buena Vista! This is where I went to college and met some of the bestest friends a girl could ever ask for. Where I became an adult. Where I became who I am today. I LOVE the Shenandoah Valley and I wax nostalgic many times about my former life there. But that season of my life has passed and sometimes I wonder if it will ever return. But alas, I fear that it is gone for good. Instead I dream of my former days as a Buena Vistaian.

I drove those 16 miles from Buena Vista to Lexington and back every single day, and sometimes twice if there was a Wal-mart trip involved. I could almost kick myself at all the times I drove amongst those rolling hills and took them for granted. I loved spending hour after hour in the Washington & Lee libraries smelling the books and dreaming of one day having a ginormous library of my own. And simply walking downstairs to go to church. I feel that if you were to see my heart, there would be a huge chunk completely devoted to Virginia.

Oh Shenandoah, I long to see you…

Lily

Feels like home to me…

Dorothy tells us that there is no place like home. What she should have said was there is no place like homes. And yes I know that that doesn’t make any sense, but it does to me. I have three homes. My parents’ house in Georgia, Southern Virginia, and my Abuelos’ house in California.

1224 Highland Rd in the beautiful Santa Ynez Valley is my happy place. When I was a little child I would wake up from a horrible nightmare and cry for my mother. She would calm me down by telling me to imagine my favorite place: Grandpa and Grandma’s house. I love the way it smells. (Mostly of tea rose, mate, and crafts. And yes, crafts have a distinct smell.) I love the way I feel when I am there, and most importantly, I love my Abuelos!

The anticipation from the airport increases by the hour as you drive up the coast with the window open smelling the salty ocean air. And by the time you reach Santa Barbara you think that you are about to burst out of your skin. (Maybe because you need to go to the bathroom.) But all of the driving and flying are worth it when you turn the corner and finally see your happy-go-pukey, and Abuelos waiting to give you a big hug and a kiss.

But alas, my time there is never long enough and I soon have to fly back across the country, but never empty handed. I always depart their house with a suitcase of full of plant cuttings, cloth from the dollar-a-yard store, and new craft projects I accomplished with my Grandma. As I leave I take an inventory of the trip:

Eating: check.
(Grandpa’s buckwheat pancakes with freezer jam, coach’s steel-cut oats, and challenging everyone to a taco eating contest.)

Cuddling with Grandma: check.

Never wanting to leave: double check.

Lily