No Place Like Home
Problem is, I’m having a bit of a struggle figuring how where (and when) home is: I’ve just come back from my 45th high school reunion in Birmingham, and am trying to re-center on the who and where of things.
Was it a worthwhile effort? Yes, for sure. Where there disappointments? Inevitably, when thrown together after so long for such a brief time and with such superficial encounters, considering all that had come before in our lives together.
I’m debriefing and will have more to say about that, for what it’s worth.
I brought my mom back home with me, so we’ll be sampling the cultural offerings of tiny Floyd–which are MANY this week–the National Music Festival, The Floyd Artisan’s Trail, that kicks off this weekend, plus the usual characters and events. More soon!
And regarding photos from the reunion: Fred the photographer went off and left his cameras in the back room. So I am counting on the several dozen point-and-shooters to upload hopefully to a common gallery. But then, for a 45th, it might be better to remember seeing everybody through the hazy lens of memory than the cruelly-exacting lens of The Present.