So, I left home, to go back home. If that doesn’t make sense, let me go backwards a bit. I left the place I’ve lived for almost 25 years to go back to the place I grew up in.

I went back for a high school reunion, but I also wanted to see my people. The notion that I was on vacation to do things went by the wayside as I realized that I was incorrect. I was not here to go places, I was there to see people.

“I’m going to Amoeba Music! I’m going to LACMA! I’m going to the La Brea Tar Pits!”

No the bleep I was not.

It’s a great problem to have, that. To be in demand to a point where you can’t do things because you have all of these people who want to make time to see you. And I had five days to do it.

I ate great and laughed long. What more could there be to this? We talked about life, adulting, the things we’re doing and want to be doing, a world of imagination and the one we have to deal with in this reality.

I ate outside whenever possible, and soaked up as much sun as I could; we have Vitamin D deficiencies in the Midwest, you know. Had to soak up as much sun and warmth as possible; the day is coming where I’ll have neither.

The place I knew is largely gone; I don’t live in my old house, a lot of the places I used to go to aren’t there anymore, and I really have to come to grips with the fact that there’s nothing still there but my memories. But that can’t stop me from making new memories. Isn’t that a side effect of aging gracefully?

Maybe next year I’ll be able to go to the museums and such…or, maybe, I’ll get caught up again and spend my days with people I love. Why not both, though? We shall see.