You Can't Go Home Again!

You really can't go home again. I found that out when I recently spent several days with my Mom in the U.P. She's on the move again. She just purchased a house and when I went to her current home I was greeted by packing boxes and a house in disarray.

She's giving up her "Dream House" on a Lake in exchange for a more modest 3-bedroom home in the city. I've told her she's going to miss the Lake, but she says it's too much work and after 5 years of money pitting she's had enough.

That got me to thinking about how many places I've called home over the years. Not counting living on campus in College, it comes to about 15 different apartments and homes. No place is perfect. You can find a flaw if you look hard enough. My Mom has already found some minor flaws with her new home and she's having them addressed before she moves in later this month.

Honestly the places you live in can be like ghosts, haunting your mind or your dreams. I still dream about the home I spent most of my teenage years growing up in. I sometimes go by there when I travel to the U.P. It almost makes me feel guilty, like abandoning an old friend.

Memories come to mind. That's the home we used to throw G.I Joe dolls out the window to see if their parachutes would really work. That's the home my sister Kathy learned that you can't carry a portable television down a stairs when you're only four years old. There's the home where we spent a Christmas huddled around the fireplace because the power was out for more than 8 hours while the temperature outside hovered in the teens.

Now I call a 2-bedroom apartment in Fond du Lac home. I guess home isn't really a house or an apartment, it's the memories you build and carry around with you the rest of your life. They survive whatever move you make. They're more precious and should be handled with care.