Category: What’s Called Home

In which I discuss places around this place we call home, in various stages of undress.

Home for the Holidays

When you go back home, it isn’t quite the same. I drove by 4245 Wyoming today. It was still brick and stucco and the porch that was all mine was still there. Yet it was like an amputated body part, lifeless and still, in the wet December rain. You cannot go back, I think. Even…