The address isn't important, when you know the way home.

After the big "D" and I don't mean Dallas. I moved into the house where we raised our family. The little ones all have littler ones of their own. It is not my house. It is the haunted house on Timothy drive. It the house where our children grew up. The house where memories and reminders abound . I am eternally haunted by the most treasured memories of a lifetime.

So, . . . .

"The whole point to moving is to begin a new life in a new place. It is time to start living for and with each other. It is time to migrate, south.

I told Rose a story about being on board my boat 32 miles east of Ocean City, I painted a picture of the shoreline and the skyline of high rise hotels dropping below the horizon. Then there was nothing but salty green water as far as one could see in all directions. You couldn't tell which direction was south or north. It all looked the same. As in life, sometimes we are 32 miles out and the foundation of our life, the solid ground beneath our feet slips below the horizon. Our dreams fade with the setting sun and we are adrift upon a sea of uncertainty. All you think about is, I want to go home. Rose and I don’t have a home, we only have houses. We want to go home, our home.

I often catch myself staring intently at Rose as she stares at nothing in particular out the window. As the fields and countryside stream endlessly by, my brow furrows as I think, ‘I wonder if she’s thinking about her home?’ I notice that a veil of sadness has taken her by surprise. She is silent and her ever-present smile has retreated from the overpowering sadness. I wonder if she is truly happy, living with the curse of being homeless at this point in her life. Her home is somewhere in her yesterdays. I can’t take Rose home and that reality is killing me. Rose is a homebody without a home. We dream of a home, talk about searching for and purchasing a home but we can’t find the road that will take us home. Rose and I speak of our home but for now it’s only a lovely dream. I wonder which one of us hates that fact that we are homeless more? Rose and I are happy when we’re together but then . . . ."

"We never go home, we just go back to our two separate houses. "

I hope to drive Rose to our home, one-day.

"The address isn't important, when you know the way home."

Home, Sweet Key West, Home