Can Anyone Go Home Again?
story and photos by Richard Rossner
Life is slippery. Just when I think have it in my grasp, it slithers away like an eel. It twists, writhes and slips from my grip, leaving me empty-handed. And feeling empty in many ways.
That’s when I ache for some place of intense safety and familiarity to regroup.
The house where I grew up as it looks today.
Johnny Mercer wrote, “Any place I hang my hat is home.” I wonder about people who are that comfortable. Frank Sinatra…George Clooney…the Dalai Lama (if he had a hat). They exude such ease with everything.
I’m not on that list. I’m on the list of people who never feel at home. And I’m not talking about a geographical place. I’m talking about feeling at home in life.
Sure, I’ve accomplished some wonderful things, but it’s all been hit or miss with no mastery. In quiet moments I’m haunted by my sense of ineptitude at navigating something that seems so simple for others.
I recently had the chance to return to my state of origin. No, not the womb as a zygote. New Jersey.
First, I went to the town where I was born. It’s been in an economic slide for decades. Sweet memories I knew of bright Christmas lights gaily strung down the main thoroughfare; the heady smell of popcorn and candy wafting through the glorious department store; summers of big-leafed trees and fat, fuzzy caterpillars; the sweet breezes off the Raritan Bay – they’re gone. Downtown is all bargain discount stores now. The place looks like a dump.
Main Street Metuchen as it looks today.
When I was four, we moved to a town about twenty minutes away. I decided I had to go there again. This was “home.” This was where I really grew up. This was where my friends and I experienced landmark moments and made lifelong memories: bar mitzvahs, high school, dating, make-out parties, puppy love, first kisses, adventures and misadventures.
There were a thousand memorable moments in the crunch of autumn leaves; the bite and beauty of snowy winters; the unmistakable smell of crayons that fell into the car vent and melted every time we put the heat on. I had almost forgotten about the magic of fireflies, or hearing the Good Humor truck bells that triggered a stampede of neighborhood kids.
Local school bus.
I remember smaller moments – like the peculiar hue of greenish-grey clouds holding the coming rain, while my father, brother and I rushed to plant hundreds of plugs of zoysia (a creeping grass that resists grubs). And after the rain, the distinct smell of the nitrogen-rich air.
There were the big moments, too. Asking my leading lady to the prom during the final curtain call of our high school musical…and her saying yes. This was the home that embraced me through my high school graduation, college acceptance and college graduation. The home that gave me the courage to have adult conversations with my parents, and yes, even their friends.
Me at nine or 10 years old. The house in the picture belongs to our neighbor across the street.
Walking the streets of my town gave me confidence when I was growing up. It was “my town.” I owned those streets. I hoped going there again would plug me back into my sense of the familiar. A touchstone where I could recharge, get my bearings…breathe again.
I guess I thought I would always own that place, and it would never change. But like Wendy in Peter Pan, it did change. Or perhaps like a duplicitous lover, it simply lied.
When I returned to “my town,” a pain burrowed deep, like a poison arrow into my soul.
I recognized no one. The streets looked different. My block looked different. My house looked different.The sapling my father, brother and I planted in the front yard was now a big, gnarled tree. Zoysia was replaced by sod. I was an alien observer…an unwilling Stage Manager in Thornton Wilder’s Our Town.
I suddenly realized that what I thought was life only existed in my mind.
I watched as unfamiliar families went to “their” stores, did “their” chores, were busy making “their” memories…in their town. I felt the ice-water shock of knowing that I owned none of it.
I realized that even the wonderful memories I thought I made with friends may only exist in the electric synapses of my mind. The people I shared those moments with probably remember them differently…if at all.
Me in front of my best friend's house when we made the infamous "snow woman."
We live under the illusion of ownership of a place until we move away and then try to return. Staying emotionally tethered to the place helps maintain the fantasy of belongingness, but only for so long. We sleepwalk through the grind of daily living, without recognizing our lack of truly owning anything. Then we get a discomforting wake-up call in the guise of a trip to one’s birthplace… or a sense of one’s mortality. Either way, the fuzzy veil lifts to reveal the stark truth.
In “Old Friends,” Paul Simon wrote, “How terribly strange to be seventy.” You don’t have to wait to be seventy to feel terribly strange.
Thomas Wolfe wrote You Can’t Go Home Again. I think he was talking about that longing to recapture some part of our lives that we thought we owned. Perhaps it's life’s necessary conceit – almost a kindness – that we don’t realize we never have ownership of anything in a world that is constantly changing.
Maybe life is simply a construct of one’s imagination; a weaving and blending of remembered sights, smells, experiences and observations that are unique to an individual.
It is a bitter pill to recognize that we come into this life alone, we live it alone, and we leave it alone. Along the way we distract ourselves with family, friends, our extraordinary consciousness and creativity.
But I can’t go home again. You can’t go home again. No one can. At least we all share that experience. In that way we’re all passengers on the same rented bus – traveling to our Ultimate Home, wherever that may be.
Richard Rossner is a writer who has written for television and film. When he isn’t writing, he is working with his wife, Rahla Kahn, teaching Adaptive Applied Improvisation to cancer patients, corporations and private clients who want to experience the healing benefits of laughter, joy and creativity through their experiential program, The Power Of Play (www.ThePowerOfPlay.com).
56 Comments
Reader Comments (56)
You are a wonderful writer. This article hit home, right on the mark. Beautiful Richard. Thank you.
Richard - I thoroughly enjoyed and connected with your experience of going back home again. We don't own anything except for our memories. Everything in this lifetime is temporary. Thank you for this well articulated story of your experience. We are all in this together, until one of us gets to go before the other. But, we'll all reunite again, someday, sometime in one of the other dimensions - at the top of the hill.
Kevin Fee
After my parents died, I felt a searching and was in hopes that I could find some peace. It took awhile and a lot of mental commitment to forge ahead and realize that “it is my turn, along with my husband, to be a leader in our household / family to provide the comfort that my parents did for us”. It is time to "Step-up" and take that responsibility.
Today, I feel more at peace because this is my new job in life. Be there for my children.
It is impossible to go back and expect to feel the same as when I was growing up in a loving secure household. Memories, especially the good, and that is all I really want to think about, serves me well, and brings a smile of delight to me often.
Referring to “Home is where you hang your hat” has a little different meaning for me. It is where I leave my toothbrush (don’t wear hats much ). However, home is where Rick, my husband, is. It is probably wrong to put one person as my life’s reward but he is IT. He is my strength, comfort, love, and security. I dread the day when this could all end. The smartest thing is not to think about unhappiness because it only hurts me and ruins my attitude. The best thing to do is to make good plans, look forward, and enjoy everyone who crosses my path, now. If you choose, it will be “Happy Holidays”.
Glenn,
Thank you for checking in. I know you get it. In fact, I think you may be sitting in the seat on that bus next to me. And I am very happy to have you there!
Kevin,
I'm glad you enjoyed the article. And you are right - we are all in this together. And it helps to know that those great philosophers, Firesign Theater, had it right when they said "I think we're are all Bozos on this bus." I have to say that I am grateful for the wonderful ride I get to share with people like you!
Toni,
Thank you for your thoughtful comments. You've definitely got it right! I hope you enjoyed the picture of downtown Metuchen! Next time I'm back in NJ I plan to get together if time permits.
I think I'm on the same bus with Sinatra, Clooney & Lama. Since I married Sheila 43 years ago, home is where she is. We've lived several places throughout this country and the only thing I miss from all of the places is the friends we've made. With the emergence of email, we're able to stay in touch. The one time I did "go home again" was when I went to the first house I lived in, in Cincinnati. The large rooms and basement where my sister and I played were, in fact, painfully small. I think I decided, then, to live where I was and not look back.
I can see that your philosophy has worked very well for you and Sheila, Victor. You are one of the most unflappable people I know. Long may you keep unflapping!
Reechárd ~ I am in complete agreement with the wonderful comments your friends have made. You are undoubtedly a marvelous writer who paints a picture with every word. You have a way of making the reader feel as though they're right along side you on the bus or walking down Main Street. Your story certainly brought to light my own memories of growing up in Washington, D.C. Many times I long to go home especially when things aren't going right. And, in my mind, that's just what I do..."weave & blend all that was dear to me". It takes years to figure out that home is not a place you take a plane to get to but, rather the recollection of sweet moments in time that you believe were happy & carefree...when our Moms & Dads were young... and we were younger! Visiting Washington is much like your visit to New Jersey...physically completely different, some familiar parts for the better, some not. Yet, no big yellow caterpillars can demolish our child hood memories of Home Sweet Home.
Richard...thoughtful, full of emotion and sadness. Feelings that are not mine about the past in the same way because we were always in the move. I never connected to a neighborhood or childhood friends in the same way because my neighborhood was always a movable feast. I loved reading it. Love you too.
Your story was great, yet so sad. I guess it is impossible to go back home again, but when I go home I return to my old house and sleep in my old bed in my same old bedroom. Sometimes I pretend I'm 15 and nothing has yet happened to me. I know it will really be weird when Mom is no longer there and strange people are living in my bedroom. When I'm visiting Mom, I stay in the house the entire time and watch movies or read magazines. Where did everything go...and so fast? Poof! Gone in the blink of an eye. It's all so crazy. I think I'm feeling depressed now. You've got me thinking. I vow to start living every day as though it;s the last!
Richard,
What a wonderful trip down memory lane. I'm here to tell you that you CAN go home again! Imagine the shock and thrill when I discovered my childhood pizza joint, Tony's, was STILL in the same location serving the exact same pizza I remembered from my childhood.
Recently Barry and I traveled down memory lane together. First going to his home town in Silver Springs, Md. Ad then driving up the coast to my South Plainfield, N.J. It was a great trip. I am happy to report that BOTH of our childhood homes are still standing AND that our neighborhoods are actually nicer than when we left. So you see, you CAN go home again.
I was sorry to discover that my beloved Friendly's Ice Cream had disappeared next door to Tony's Pizza, but then just recently we made another magical discovery...my teenage ice cream Parlour, Farrell's, had restructured and reopened and it was actually BETTER than my memory! How cool is that?!
So life is what we make it, and home is where the heart is...you need to come home to Scottsdale, it's where you left your heart many years ago.
Richard, do you need a hug? That was insightfully and beautifully written. I wish I could write with that kind of depth, but I seem to want to make a joke out of everything. At least that's what my parole officer thinks. But I'm not speaking to her anymore, ever since she took out the restraining order against me. But I digress. Good job!
OH, Richard, you have done something I have thought about doing a hundred times, but never had the courage to do. Your language is so vivid and honest, it really draws the reader in. I love hearing about a little Jewish boy loving the Christmas lights. Our little neighbourhood was Jewish and Mexican and many other European immigrants and people would ask my Dad to leave our lights up"just one more night". You capture that sad longing for a time and place that has vanished while you were becoming who you are.
Love the photo of you with your snow girl.
Love to you and Rahla,
Bridget
Seeing the streets of Metuchen in your pictures took my breath away with a sadness I did not expect. Of course, I have been there many times and the last time was for Bobby's funeral. But somehow, I appreciated the opportunity to revisit the town even though it is now forever tainted with that memory. Bobby always spoke so lovingly of the town and his experience there to the point it took on an almost mythical, Brigadoon-type quality. I get what you are saying so eloquently. Thank you for sharing.
Dear Richard,
Things all happen not by chance...your article has lifted my spirit, just when I needed it most. You present a stage in your life where the truth come to demolish your memories that supported you with the amazing imagination power that you definitely have and that moment is your return to your birth place. Now, imagine this: you are 21yrs old and LOVE your birth place but cannot accept the corruption and fakeness of the fashionable life style -yes, I am from Italy, you've got it- so, when Life presents you the first chance to fly away to a place of freedom, fairness and love for Nature and a chance to work for all -yes, I moved to the UK in '83- I fleww like a bird out of a golden cage! Then I found myself thrown back "home" last december due to the ill health of my mother, who, by the way, never put step in the UK in 31 yrs to visit me. I have, same as you, cringed at the "new place" I found it replacing my idea of home, it was far worse then I could ever imagine. Not in a brick and mortar sense, many new fashionable and cultural buildings have arisen from the ground togehter with just as many bingos and "we buy gold" places...the crisis is as solid as the roman stones this place is built upon. No, no, the real teeth grinding harsh truth was the mentality of the locals, bitter, twisted, envious and without hope due to the lack of jobs maybe, but much more the lack of direction from any form of institution. Yet I had to stay 9 mths in this hell on Earth place, hanging to every Twining tea bag I could find and hoping it would soon be time to go back HOME, MY HOME...the UK!
So what does Life do? It throws a spanner in yor wheels: it makes you fall in love with a third place, still in Italy, but this is different, this is called TOSCANA, Tuscany for us turist...and it wraps its arms around me and MAKE ME FEEL HOME IN ONE MONTH! Gentle hills and a simple genuine countriside, nature respected and its protection encouraged, people who smile and give you hope when you have none left and invite you for dinner as the value more your natural human side then your designer coat!r Note, I used the 3rd singular NEUTRAL "it" as a subject, NOT "HE" as at the age of 51 I have learnt that decisions must be made with brain and not with passion...or it could cost dearly! A friend in each country can tip the plate of the scale easily if you let him.
Now for the crunch and hardest point of all this logorroic comment: what do you do when you have TWO very good and special FRIENDS who both want your company next to them, platonically or not, it is irrelevant at this age, for the selfish single reason that THEY need you but they would easily both find alternative company if you are not next to them? The ANSWER is exactly what you have written: we come into this life alone, we live it alone, and we leave it alone.
It is raining in Tuscany now, it gave me the time to read your article, see? Nothing happen by chance...going to make myself a strong Italian espresso...for the Journey....one final comment: If there is one positive point to lift you from the bitter pill, as you call it, is that I AM AND MANY OTHER THOUSAND PEOPLE ARE HERE TO READ YOU, YOU ARE NOT QUITE ALONE.....AND HOME, FOR ALL OF US IS THIS ENTIRE PLANET ON WHICH WE PROJECT ALL THE LOVE AND IMAGES THAT MAKE IT HOME FOR US....Charlie Brown had it right....just bring your blanket with you, wherever you go...have a happy life!
Hi Richard-
Liked your article. Not really so "dark", as mature, reminiscent, and bitter-sweet. The memories are rich, and very much alive, and written with longing, love, and down-to-earth eloquence. I hope you focus on the sweetness...
Hi Richard, I read your article and I understand and agree with you completely ! Just a couple of weeks ago I was in N.J. ( where I grew up too ) visiting mom and getting her ready for the big move to a care home in Az. that I found for her.
One day while I was there running errands for her, I decided to take a drive to the "old neighborhood". Like you, I thought I would find some comfort in seeing the familiar places where many memories were made.
Like you, I found myself to be the alien visiting a foreign land. EVERYTHING was different . At that moment , with a deep sadness, I realized that I had to let go of this "tether" that still bound me to the illusion of belonging to a certain place. At this moment, with a deep sigh that came from deep within the caverns of my being " I let go", holding on now to only the memories that brought with them the colorful variety of childhood and adolescent stellar moments of my youth
. As I thought of these moments, suddenly a smile broke through the sadness and I thought to myself.........."at least I had great times and now great memories to remember " . I thanked God for ALL the blessings in my life and I continued to drive on.......now .........smiling.
The innocent and naïve perceptions of youth are sweet and rich and wonderful, you should never let them go. If the adult you could stand by that child, he would have 100's of reasons to not have those feelings of joy and wonderment...but they're real! Although we can never have those feelings again, as time, life and reality get in the way, those experiences and feelings have shaped the you you are today as much as anything else. You would not be today's you without having passed through those roads. You can't go home again, but you can, and should, always cherish those experiences, they are real.
I agree with your wonderfully written article.
Home for me does not exist in the places I grew up in Brooklyn, NY, Margate, NJ, Belle Harbor, NY or Pearl Street in Manhattan. I will never again see my parents welcoming me in at the front door. They are no longer here and so I have little desire to revisit the shells. It would give me more of an achy twinge then sweet nostalgia.
I did recently have two delicious visits with my older sister at my place in Santa Monica and then with my middle sister at her place in East Setauket, NY. We still love crawling into bed together and watching TV. That's about as good as it gets. Also, those friend's I used to bike over to see, I talk to regularly and we remain those same giggly girls. Time has a way of standing still with childhood friend's and family. I love that that has not changed. I'm not an "age" with them ... I'm just "me" ... and that is home.
Richard, your writing is deep and truthful. This brings up so much, I wish we could hang out and talk for days.
~ richard
You've touched me and obviously others. Who can't relate to childhood memories, but they are just that, child's thoughts. You can't get to here without coming from there. Thank God we've had the opportunity to live, to watch, to laugh, to cry, to friend, to marry to parent. Thank you for stirring up our humanness. What a life, glad you and I are a part of it.
Richard,
I wanted to share another positive "walk down memory lane" story which occurred as a result of me agreeing to plan my high school 40th reunion. In preparation, I decided to fly back to the Jersey shore. SeasideHeights/Lavalette/Belmar/Manasquan...
my 4 favorite "stomping grounds" of my youth.
I agreed to meet 5 high school buddies for a day at the beach. Sitting around sharing stories, we all marveled at how we hadn't changed a bit. LOL...We were actually sitting on the beach and reminiscing at how thru some magical fairy dust, we had actually gotten better with age! Were we all in denial?... I think not. We had escaped the insecurity of our youth, and grown up to become secure, successful women entrepreneurs. Our favorite beach haunts (D.J's in Belmar for one) had stayed the same (this was before the deveststion hit the Jersey shore last summer) and as we sat at the ocean's edge, we all shouted in unison, "IT'S A WONDERFUL LIFE!"
Fast forward to October 2012. Our 40th reunion. It was a joyous evening and the tall, skinny girl who didn't get asked to the prom (that was me in 1972) grew up into a tall, slender belle of the ball. Seems all those cool, cute, petite cheerleaders became plump adults. There IS a God! LOL
Anyway, I am here to repeat: YOU CAN GO HOME AGAIN!
Richard, am I the ONLY one?
Based on your readers' comments, me thinks so!
Call me "Pollyanna".
Richard, as always your writings are apropos to my current situation. The concept of what "home" is, where it actually resides within me and where it may or may not reside geographically is top of my mind. Thank you for sharing, your brilliant insights and genius writing.
Mia,
We all have rich and wonderful stories to tell. I know your life experience is like no one else's that I know. I can't wait to read the tales you will spin!
Nice article. This world is not our home, we just passing through.
Heather,
What an excellent observation! A number of people have had experiences similar to yours. It's true that the gold in life is the people and experiences we share, not the physical place. As comments come in, I am gaining more insight and perspective on this. Stay tuned!
Sally,
Your comment on the 14th really touched me. I almost stopped by your house (if this is the Sally I think it is!) to say hi to your mom. Unfortunately, I ran out of time. Maybe next trip!
When I go home to Metuchen I feel as though I have gone home. I sleep well with the familiar sounds and smells. The air feels like Metuchen, The train sounds are the same. The church bells are the same. The small town feeling is the same with the parades, carnivals, markets, and theater events. Downtown has fine places to eat, great bakeries where crumb buns are the best, and the pizza is fantastic (same water as when we were there.) Go back and relive the things that don't change, perhaps it is in the memories of the smell, taste, and hearing of the beholder.
Jo,
I love that you and Barry had such a great stroll down memory lane! And by the way, Mom's Pizza (if it's still there in Edison) was an awesome restaurant. They set the bar for me in pizza, and Tastee Subs definitely set the bar for submarine sandwiches!
If you had been with me on the trip that inspired this article, I might have written a completely different piece! You are a bright light in an often dark world!
Mark,
I'll take that hug from the funniest writer I know!
Bridget,
I love that your neighborhood had diversity AND respect for each other! The long, dark nights of winter need Christmas lights and the smiles of friends and neighbors to buoy our spirits and help us get to the natural exuberance of Spring! I can't wait to come over and visit you and your Christmas lights this year! Keep a toddy hot for me!
Yes, Richard. It's me, Sally. Please stop by to see Mom the next time you are there. She would thoroughly enjoy that. You paint with words, I paint with line, shape, color, form, texture....etc. Both ways are a language unto themselves. Each to be interpreted by the viewer. Keep on truckin'. I love your words.
Cindy,
This article has elicited so many interesting reactions. You illuminated a part of the "ownership" issue I hadn't realized before. Your interactions and trips to Metuchen with Bobby gave you a sense of ownership. I had never considered that, since you didn't grow up there. But somehow through osmosis, the keys to the "emotional" city became yours, too. Brigadoon is a perfect analogy. And the memories and feelings play hide and seek with us throughout our lives. I love that you and I share memories and ownership of that town and our relationships with Bobby.
Gisella,
Thank you for your spectacular reflections on this article. There is so much to consider with what you wrote! One notion caught my attention in particular: your near-instantaneous recognition of a new "home" in Tuscany. I believe it was the "feeling" I was searching for on my trip in the article. I have a feeling that I will stumble upon a place that simply "feels right." I had a very vivid dream one night about a group of houses at the top of a hill. I instantly felt at home there, and couldn't explain why. That dream pokes through my conscious mind every now and then. I'm not hunting down that special place, but I feel I'll now it when I see it.
Thank you for your passion, your clarity and your insights. Essere ben!
Beautiful, touching, and as legitimate a reflection on life as any. Life may simply be perception, and so it is mutable; I believe we can choose how to look at it. A lot of what you said i wholeheartedly identify with, specifically: no longer belonging to my home town (or it belonging to me, for that matter), the hit or miss nature of my life, among other things. And that our experience is uniquely ours, that I believe as well; and so all perspectives have legitimacy- now there's a hard pill to swallow. But I think and feel that the greatest illusion of our (my) perception is that of being alone. At the core I feel we are all inextricably connected, like it or not( and often, like it not). That's my take on it. Thanks for sharing such personal, vulnerable, thoughts. Nothing hit or miss about that. And I have rambled enough for now.
Richard,
I thought of you last night. Went to see John Sebastian at the Musical Intsrrument Museum here in Scottsdale. John played for 1.5 hours while weaving stories of his life.
He spoke about creating the song for "Welcome Back Kotter" ...it immediately reminded me of you and Bobby as "kids" growing up in New Jersey. Then I thought of how concidental it was that before I met you, I worked for Bobby's father, Steve, at Sarbo in Middletown, New Jersey. Life is like that, filled with wonderful, magical connections.
Lets face it Richard, one of the BEST moves I ever made was inviting you & Rahla to that holiday party long ago. YOUR best move was accepting my invitation. LOL
Ron,
While I have my melancholy moments, I also have much joy. I recently gave myself an exercise before going to sleep. I consciously think about three things for which I am grateful that happened during the day. The unintended consequence - and happy benefit - is that during the day, my subconscious mind is on a "search and remember mission" so that I will have three things I can name when I go to bed. This simple exercise has me focusing and recognizing so many simple and joyful moments throughout the day.
So thank you for your reminder!
Sandie,
Thank you for your description of your trip home. I could feel the clouds parting and the sunshine of your happiness break through the end of your trip. And it is like that - suddenly the clouds can part, leaving clarity, calm and gratefulness to burn off the remaining sadness. Or maybe it's just New Jersey that does that!
Thank you, Jeff. Those memories are very real. I often notice how a thought can stimulate a feeling - which is a biochemical process happening in the body. The tiny electrical interaction in the brain turns bodily switches on and off. How much more real can it get! And it's a wonderment that so much of existence can't be seen, but is real. Hmmm...there could be an interesting tidbit of an article in that.
Baba Gee whiz! What you wrote is so beautiful. Thank you for your perspective. The idea that home is about relationships, not places seems to be a recurring theme in the comments.
Richard - I'm looking forward to getting together and hanging out again. Hopefully soon!
Ronnie, I'm glad we get to share the truly wonderful and important issues that we have for the last 3 decades. I consider myself very fortunate to have friends like you!
Loved your story, Jo!
Audrey - as long as we all keep breathing (nice and slow), we'll make it to the next stepping stone.
Kathryn,
You've laid out a picture perfect image of the beautiful little town we know so well. And I'm glad to see that you can go back and live so "presently" and with such appreciation! I mentioned feeling like the Stage Manager in the play "Our Town." I saw the play a year or two ago with Helen Hunt as the Stage Manager. The scene that always gets me is when the character of Emily goes back to scene of her 12th birthday. It was so poignant - and frustrating. Watching the little moments slip past without real consciousness of them. The trick, it seems, is to be mindful. At least as mindful as we can be in every moment. Then we can experience the beauty of the smells, the sights, the sounds...and the pizza...wherever we are. I guess that's what's meant by the song, "Anywhere I Hang My Hat Is Home."
Rob,
You summed it up beautifully. And you are right about the "real" truth of our connectedness. I guess the illusion of the separation can trick us (me). The game is to remember that our essence is energy - and it cannot be destroyed. It changes form, but it continues. Things are so dense on this plane that I think it makes us all a bit myopic.
I hope to get to see your next gig at WitzEnd on the 20th!
Jovan,
I loved your comments about John Sebastian. His music always held a special place for me. So beautiful. I remember he did an amazing concert at Boston University where tickets cost one dollar! What a night!
I spoke with Rahla tonight, and yes, the best move we made in Scottsdale was accepting your party invitation! Worlds opened for us thanks to you!
As is your wont, you write with skill and deep reflection about the subject that has captured your spirit -- and you always seem to include humor as well, at least by my assessment. As we both know, "New Jersey" is always funny. So I happily read whatever you write and am glad for it.
But I only got to your article yesterday since life on the field has had lots of action, deterring me from not only reading it but from assembling thoughts in a relatively cogent manner.
Maybe because I had a childhood that, upon reflection, wasn't "normal" (if there is such a thing as normal) that it's people who have given me the feeling of home, of being at home, not so much a place. This seems strange to say since I've lived a lot of my life in this city, and some of those dear people are no longer here. But now it's in moments of stillness where my spirit can rest within the sweetness and pain that life holds and just go with the flow. Or with the bump, bump, bump. After all, I do have Band-Aids handy. And memories that linger or resurface, whether accurate or not.
By the way, whenever I read your work, I always wish that you could have an even larger readership because of the quality of your work. It's a gift to all of us who read your words. Oh, and I loved your photos too.
Cecile,
You've hit on one of the more interesting things I've discovered through the comments readers have made - several people do not have a physical place that triggers that safe feeling. It's the people and the shared experiences that do it for them.
Thank you for your kind words on the writing, as well as your wish for larger readership. Feel free to post this on your social network sites...and if you don't do that, wearing a sandwich sign advertising the web address as you walk down Hollywood Boulevard would be acceptable as well! (What am I thinking?! Make that Rodeo Drive. Maybe a producer will see it!)