I once read that “Home is not where you live, but where they understand you”. After being on the road for the last few weeks I must say that no matter how exotic, or new, or exciting a shoot may be, it is simply not home. We live on a tiny street lined with tall shady trees and white picket fences. No, really. White picket fences. The neighbors to the left and to the right as well as the two families across the alley in the back are like family to us. In many ways they ARE our family. On any given Tuesday we can be found gathered on a back porch laughing and talking into the early hours. But that’s not what this post is about. Its about the safety I find here after a long trip. Or a long day. Or a long anything. It is my refuge. A place where I know that I am loved. Addison has an infatuation with things that smell good. Whether it be candles, or incense, or an assortment of flowery spray things, the house always smells like Lavender. Or cinnamon. And quite often, a mixture of both. Tonight when I returned from New Orleans and strolled up the walkway my heart began to pound in anticipation of that wonderfully familiar smell of being safe. And it did not disappoint. It was close to eleven and we made breakfast together. Turkey sausage and scrambled eggs. And somewhere in there I scratched my dog behind the ears and kicked off my shoes in the middle of the living room and knew that everything would be okay. That this is truly the happiest place on earth. Tonight the Goodness is my soft fluffy pillow. The remote control with the missing back. The dirty dishes in the sink. Tonight, the Goodness smells like Lavender.