I went home this weekend and although I didn't get to see all the people I wanted to it was a wonderful visit home. If there were no road signs and I had no memory of the roads you can tell when you're close to home. Strangers in mud covered trucks do a flick of their fingers to say hello, traffic becomes scarce, and life itself seems to slow down in general. Although going home makes me sad and some times is overwhelming since my grandparents have passed I have a lot of people there that love me and I love them as well. Each time I go home it is a closer date to when my house will be torn down. The farm hardly seems the same with the new house, landscaping, and swing set in the yard. I do hope to get some boards from the house to make some thing. Perhaps a shelf or sign for my current home. I think all my trips home are bittersweet. Next time I go home I'll be there to see a good friend of mine who will be going to Afghanistan soon; but I know he'll be home again.
“A house is made of walls and beams; a home is built with love and dreams.”
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