Over the ocean and through Chicago..it's home to Hillsdale we go.....

2,000 miles can be a big difference temperature wise. It’s weird for me to imagine warm, tropical Dominican Republic as I’m huddled under a blanket in “see your breath outside” weather Michigan. On the bright side, it finally feels and looks like winter and of course there are freckles of snow outside so perhaps we will have a white Christmas. Probably the best part of coming home was rediscovering my mom’s homemade bread, being able to get water from the faucet (my parents laughed at my enthusiasm on this one) and of course seeing the Christmas decorations up around the house…the stockings are hung by the chimney with care.

Getting to the United States was actually more eventful than normal. When I arrived in Atlanta, I went through security and they did a hand swipe on me for “explosives.” Apparently, my hands tested positive for something, so I spent the next half hour as TSA went through my things and I got patted down. I was actually most nervous about getting thrown into an interrogation room as you see in the movies with bright lights, but after discovering that all I was hiding in my book bag were pencil shavings and my shoes really weren’t bombs ready to go off, they released me.  

On the flight to Chicago, apparently Toto was found by the row behind us. After several radio calls asking for the owner…and walking up and down the aisles with the little white dog…..everyone thought it must have been a stow away and wondered how it could’ve possibly gotten on the plane and if the owners were looking desperately for it back in Atlanta. About a half hour later, the owners were found and apparently had slept through all of the announcements. I pity their alarm clock.

Being back home in Hillsdale is a very strange phenomena. It’s strange how different and yet how familiar everything feels. Sitting here eating soup and watching football with my parents makes it easy to feel as if the entire Dominican Republic experience was a dream, but at least I have the cuts, scrapes and bruises from my many adventures in the Dominican Republic to prove it really happened. Now, I get to go decorate the tree. My dad thinks it is done, but obviously all of my homemade ornaments from my elementary school years are missing. Tradition is tradition, and the tree is not complete without the angel with my second grade face on it that my dad lovingly named “napkin head” is on the top. It’s good to be home :D