Home

Where is home?

Where the heart is? Any place where they have to take you when you go there? Be it ever so humble, there's no place like it?

On the range- where the deer and the antelope play?

Or, maybe it's true, like the phrase Thomas Wolfe made famous in his 1940 novel, that you can't go home again.

I've felt that way for a while now. I've even avoided going back because I'm so nostalgic by nature that it's practically painful. I resent the new businesses with their new names, the way they changed the exit ramp to the highway, how they finally rented the buildings near a field where I used to play. Even though it's an improvement, I have fond memories of when it was half completed because the builder went bankrupt, windows broken and empty, the field next to it was dirt, weeds, and litter - trash fluttering around in the breeze - we ran around and played among it.

An unlikely combination of decay and potential that I found oddly comforting.

Today I had to drive down, help some people that mean the world to me. Face the fact that nothing stays the same and watch someone I love struggle with a diagnosis that has already taken her away from me, and even worse; from her husband and daughter. I had no idea that the last time I talked to her, would be the last time she was in there. She looks at me now, and she's gone.

I arrived at the building. I pulled my car up to park next to the sidewalk and saw someone pull in front of me and start backing up to fit into his spot. I turned my car back on and slowly backed up a foot so he would have more room, but left enough space for the car behind me to get out. I was expecting the usual. A dirty look or a rude comment. I got out of the car and when I closed the door a man was standing in front of me. "Oh here we go." I thought.

"I want to thank you Miss. That was kind of you to back up for me." He smiled. It was a little disarming.

"You're welcome." I said. "I don't park in a city too often anymore. I'm a little out of practice." I opened my purse to fish out some quarters for the meter and I hear a voice behind me. It's a large man who looks a bit down on his luck. He smiles and I notice that his teeth are broken and missing, but for some reason I still like his smile. It's his eyes. He means it.

"No money in the meter today Ma'am. It's Sunday and it's free!" He gives me a salute and advises me to button up my jacket so I don't get a cold. Then he walks away quickly, whistling.

I start walking towards the building, buttoning up my jacket as I approach the door.

I've been home five minutes. And I know now, that no matter where I end up in this life and how much things change, the spirit of a place stays the same.

And I know Thomas Wolfe was wrong.