Laying awake, I stare at the ceiling. Spidery cracks spread from larger ones as the ancient plaster begins to give way to the inevitable, and I am transported to another time an place. Home is a state of mind, and this is one of those moments in time when it hits like a charging water buffalo. In my life, I've had many homes, but there are only a handful left that bear any meaning.
I wonder about my kids, and what memories are being locked away to bring back. What little gems do they absorb and file away? I had a very special opportunity to grow up as I did, and where I did. My children have not had the same luck yet, but it may not matter. Kids always find a way to make the ordinary extrodinary, and the mundane an adventure, something we as adults forget to do.