I came home last night. Although, it was not a home I grew up in with my family. It is not a home I have worked for to be a part of a community. It is a home that is given to me. It is a home that I share. There are no strings attached. It is a home with a name, the honey house of Gilleland. Gilleland is the farm. The Honey House is the name of the home that has been given to John and I. There is nothing there that is mine except boxes upon boxes of stuph. I am in this strange yet familiar place and my perspective seems to be changing second by second. When a customer comes in they ask my name, I have to pause before I say, Kahle. When I put something away on the shelf, my rings clink against it. When I refer to John, he is no longer my fiancee but my husband. John and I had been seperate for about three hours when I left for work and he called. Not for anything of emergency, just to catch up over the last three hours. That's strange.

I have seen everyone from every aspect of my life in the last week. I saw Midge Godfrey from Virginia (now Snellville). I saw the Dr's Brown with their children from Decatur. I saw my long time girlfriend from when I was eight, Lea Anne. I saw every cousin, uncle and aunt I have. I saw my girlfriend Megan from Agnes Scott and I saw my best friend Megan from North Georgia. AND I saw them all in three hours!

Now they are gone. Poof! in a puff of smoke. Left behind in their stead is a gift of some kind and a memory that includes a whirlwind. Boxes upon boxes of stuph. And just as they have been here and gone, I am married with a home. My perspective has changed again. I live at Gilleland. I am Mrs. John Kahle.