A VAGABOND'S HOME

People here ask me a lot of questions about my home. What is the weather like? What is the food like? What are the people like? What do I like to do for fun at home? And so on. Most of the questions are easy to answer, but some of them a more complicated because they are asking specific questions about my home. I don’t know where my home is. I was born and raised in eastern Washington, but moved away to pursue higher education and a job. I ultimately landed in western Washington and have been living there for the past few years. During graduate school I found lodging with my gracious sister and tolerant brother-in-law. Their home was my abode... that is until I moved back to eastern Washington for an internship placement last fall. My few belongings are scattered hither, thither and yon; some in eastern Washington at my Dad’s place, some in western Washington at my sister’s place and some here in India. Although my dad and his wife, and my sister and her husband have both widely opened their doors to me, I cannot call either house my home. They are homes that I am comfortable in. Homes I enjoy staying in. But they are the homes of others that I temporarily reside in. I am a vagabond.

Until Charlie and I found Mrs. George’s home, we were vagabonds without a home here in India. Sure, we had a place to sleep, but our accommodations were very temporary (we would be moving every week or two) and hard to call home. This post here has more information on the lodging ordeal we went through. This post is to show you what my home here actually looks like. I realized recently that I hadn’t shown any photos of my new home. It is Mrs. George’s house, and I feel comfortable in it. A home I enjoy staying in. A home a temporarily reside in and call my own. And it really does feel like home to me… at least while I’m in India. 

This is looking down our road away from Bagayam junction and towards our home.

Obviously this is not where I live, but these first few shots are depictions of what Charlie and I see everyday on our walk to and from our home. This lady is a mainstay. She is always at that same door step. Sometimes with friends, sometimes with children, but always there. 

We meet all manner of life forms while making the trek. 

Our neighbor boy. He is still not sure about us.

To get to our home, you turn off the busy road you've seen in the previous photos unto this quiet, peaceful little lane. Mrs. George's house is just at the end of the road and to the right. (You cannot see it in this photo.)

This is my home. This is the entryway. Charlie is on the front porch engaging in the ritual of removing her footwear before entering the house.

This is another view of the front yard. There is a wall around the property. 

This is Mrs. George's kitchen. She lets us use it as if it was our own. It is lovely. 

Charlie resides in the double room upstairs. This is her room. It is bright with ample cross-breeze action and gorgeous views.

Another view of Charlie's room. She is a neat-freak, so it looks like it is hardly lived in.... HAHAHAHA! 

This is my bathroom. 

My messy room. The table in my room is our victuals supply counter.

This is another view of my room. This is as you are walking in. The window there looks into the.... laundry room (??) of a mysterious apartment that is attached to the house. There is a set of outdoor windows in that little room, so I do get a little cross-breeze as well. It is a happy little room-- cozy and secure.

This is the veranda off the second floor. The views are to the East.

This is the view directly out of the veranda. So peaceful. 

This is the view to the Southeast from the veranda.

This is the view from the rooftop. This would be looking Northwest-ish.

This is the view to the West. That is College hill you see to the left in the back. 

Charlie, enjoying a cool,evening breeze from the rooftop. It is divine after a long hot day.

The vagabond.

Roommates on a rooftop.

All I have need of Thy hand has provided. Great is Thy faithfulness, Lord unto me.