Friday night, we were feverishly resetting our spare bedroom/storage room back into a guest room for company coming the next day. It was a whirlwind evening of work, seriously sapping what little energy we had after the week. During one of several trips to the dumpster, I noticed a gathering of friends in a nearby apartment. And, peering in, I was a little bit sad.
I’ve been very reluctant to admit anything other than total satisfaction with the move down here, just because I know how words can be misinterpreted and pretty soon a spark of doubt can be reported as a raging wildfire. But I can concede that my mind drifted to all the Christmas parties that were taking place back in Tennessee, even one of the most fun ones taking place that very night. My once crowded holiday schedule has, in recent years, become very open and clear.
It’s all a part of the change of scenery. For the most part, it’s been a wonderful change and I’m aware that your memory sometimes makes the good ole’ days lot a lot more golden than they were. But, there are still occasional moments like Friday night, when I glanced in that window like a poor child in a Dickens novel, thinking about the grass I used to walk on.
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