It is the familiarity that is most striking. It has been years since I lived here in oak ridge. I was 6 or 7 and mom was working on becoming the first full time female fire fighter in rural metro Knoxville. We came here as much as anything cause mom was broke. Grandma and grandpa had converted the basement into essentially an apartment for us to live in. We left after one time many "incidents" with grandpa while he was drinking. He was a man full of anger pretty much all his life. He barely kept in check when sober. Sober tended to end about 3 in the afternoon. We left when I was 10. Despite grandpa's rages this was still one of my happier places in child hood. It was here I learned to read, where I discovered the worlds of fantasy and science fiction, where I discovered it is okay to be smart.
So here I am 20 some odd years later and walking here is still familiar. The same cookie jar is in the kitchen. The gin and vermouth is kept in the same spot. The same steps down into the basement still creak with every step. Minor changes throught to be sure, but all in all so very familiar as to feel unreal as I pass through the hall like a memory one has near waking. Waking only to discover your are not back home with mom. Of course I am home. This will always be home really the constant I can return to. One needs their landmarks to navigate by I suppose.
TechNoir
So here I am 20 some odd years later and walking here is still familiar. The same cookie jar is in the kitchen. The gin and vermouth is kept in the same spot. The same steps down into the basement still creak with every step. Minor changes throught to be sure, but all in all so very familiar as to feel unreal as I pass through the hall like a memory one has near waking. Waking only to discover your are not back home with mom. Of course I am home. This will always be home really the constant I can return to. One needs their landmarks to navigate by I suppose.
TechNoir