I have had many homes. As a child of divorced parents, I had different homes while growing up. As a Navy wife, I’ve had to move numerous times. It always amazes me how quickly I acclimate to a new house. Home is home until it’s not anymore. Until the Navy decides we should be elsewhere. Then we pack up our stuff and head off to a new place. Each time, it seems a little strange to leave the old house behind. But it’s even stranger that, after a few weeks, the new home seems like home and the old one a distant memory. Maybe I’m just adaptable. I’m not really sure. But when you do move a lot, it’s such a nice feeling that one day you wake up and your house actually feels like home. No longer does it feel like a “new” house, or someone else’s house, it feels like mine. I turn toward the silverware drawer without having to think about it. I can walk through the house in complete darkness and know exactly where everything is. You’d think that would take longer than a few weeks. But it doesn’t. We Navy wives, we’re pretty tough creatures, I guess.