Coming home or A partridge in a pear tree

There is something about certain people and places that make us feel like we’ve seen them before. They feel familiar.  Like when I first met my beau. There was something about him that reminded me, or made me think of, my grandfather. 
 

Funny story: About two years ago, my father gave me my grandfather’s old watch to wear. Shortly after I met my beau, it stopped working. I brought it in to get fixed but it stopped working a second time when I saw him again.

I took it as a sign.

Not surprisingly, there was also something very familiar about his family’s cottage. Those who know me well know that my grandfather built a cottage that the entire family used to visit when I was younger. 

From the moment I saw his family’s cottage this Thanksgiving, I felt like I was coming home, returning to a long lost memory. There was a similar atmosphere and vibe, yes, but the wood paneling was also the same, as were the couch and some glasses. 

And then there were the binoculars. 

I’ll never be able to return to the cottage my grandfather built because it isn’t in the family anymore, but somehow, I’ve been graced with the possibility of returning to a very similar, and familiar, one.

Thank you.