A Weekend Back Home

This past weekend was exactly what my heart needed—a trip back to my hometown of San Angelo, Texas. We flew out of Phoenix on Thursday, landing in Dallas, then grabbed a rental car and made the familiar drive west. By the time we pulled up to Becky and David’s house (my sister and brother-in-law), I could already feel myself relaxing into the slower pace of home.

Friday was my birthday, and Becky made one of my all-time favorites—banana pudding. Not just any banana pudding—hers is the kind you linger over, savoring each bite. My mom joined us from the assisted living home where she lives, and it was so good to just sit together, share stories, and laugh without rushing anywhere.

Saturday night brought more family—Braden and Sarah drove in from Lubbock. Braden had just returned from a Big 12 officiating gig in West Virginia (yes, he’s a referee), and we were grateful they made the trip. After dinner, Becky suggested pulling out the old slide projector. Suddenly, we were transported to the 1970s, not just in pictures but in sound—the soft click of each slide advancing, the slightly too-warm smell of the projector bulb.

We all laughed at how Dad never let us touch the projector when we were kids. We didn’t know how to open it, load the slides, or fix a jam if one got stuck. As the images flashed on the makeshift screen (a sheet hung over the TV) —family vacations, goofy grins, awkward haircuts—we found ourselves telling the stories behind them. Some were familiar and well-worn; others felt like discovering treasures we’d forgotten we had or never knew like a vacation to Montana and Wyoming.

It wasn’t a weekend of big adventures or packed schedules. It was simple, slow, and rich with the kind of moments that make you grateful for family, history, and the place you came from. And as I boarded the plane back to Phoenix, I carried more than my suitcase—I carried the sound of that projector, the taste of banana pudding, and the warmth of being home.