Not going to get too deep or whiny here. I really just want to be "home" for Christmas. Problem is that what I define as "home", generally speaking, is not just a place but a time. Complicating matters is that "home" can get romanticized by slips of darker things in memory and a magnification of the happier moments. I suppose that this is better than being haunted by the bad stuff that some poor souls seem doomed to dwell in (regardless of the decades between now and the point of occurrence). So right now with, my troubled wife asleep on the couch, my daughter taking a nap, my son playing video games, and rain on a Christmas afternoon instead of snow I find myself reaching back. Not only reaching back but reaching back to moments in time that are now long lost and, most likely, bathed in the mythology of the "best times" by many years past. Of the few pictures of past times this picture represents that legendary aspect of my life that most likely will only make sense to my siblings. I post it none-the-less and will most likely elaborate at an unspecified point in the future.
