December 16, 1999 No matter how hard we try to seek out new adventures and new discoveries, there's always one thing that happens at the end of the day - we come home. Home, according to Robert Frost, is the place where, when we have to go there, they have to take you in. Home, according to Lisa, is the place where, when day folds into night, when adventures become memories, when families slip to different cities, you find comfort. To me "home" is many places. Home is where my cat lives. This is my landmark. If I find him, I find home. I've been reflecting lately. You know, when things don't go as you planned out, the first place you want to go is home. I thought that things weren't going my way. I've been pouty. Santa is 'this' close to scratching me off of his list once and for all. So, I've been wanting to go home. Run home. Run. Run really fast, even. But the thing of it is, I'm always running - running here, running there, running to, running away. Oh sure, I've said (like, a MILLION times) that I learned to appreciate life when I came close to losing it. Sounds good, huh? Yeah, but actions speak louder than words. So I say I'm gonna stop and sniff some posies along my way in life, yet....like a 18 wheeler on a 30% grade, I'm speeding out of control. Must do something. Must learn. Must work. Must do better. Must write. Must write more. Must draw, must paint, must teach, must entertain. Ooops, forgot....there's some roses over there that are in dire need of some serious sniffing. My cat, now HE knows how to slow the heck down. The only time I see him running is when his little paws get motoring while he dreams. Oh, and those occasional outbursts of feline froo froo that never fail to see him skidding, head first, into the fridge as carpet meets linoleum. All this thought has been provoked because I'm in the midst of admitting some sort of failure. Now, before you get all hoity and give me shit like about 6 of you who will remain nameless, I KNOW I haven't failed.....persay. A change in path. A glitch in plans. A temporary set-back. A new approach. Yes, yes. All that. But still a plan failed, nonetheless. But hey, I'm no stranger to defunctified plans. I invented the idea. But where I'm getting all screwy is in this sudden need to go home. Big difference: go home -- come home. Come home means coming to that place where my sleepy cat basks in the warmth of the hearth. Going home, that's the running away thing. And darn it, if I don't just feel like running away. Only problem is, I've got nowhere to run away TO. Well, that's not entirely true. There are plenty of good runaway places, the Bahamas leaps to mind. But out there, out there is the real world. Damn nasty place at times. Home is where the real world can fade away, at least for a while. I recently wrote a paper about homeless people. Those are the people without a roof. I have a roof - in fact I could probably have countless roofs if I just asked. I don't need a roof. I need a foundation. I think I still have some 2x4's somewhere. Maybe even some nails. I know for sure I have a measuring tape. I can probably muster up some cement too. It's just that, if history were to repeat itself yet again, the plan would probably fail. I've got a portfolio chock full of foundation plans. Sketches, blueprints. Some even with certified stamps of verified soundness. Hmm. As I once read, where did everyone go back to before they invented the drawing board? Home (if only) Back Ahead