Thomas Wolfe is responsible for saying "You can't go home again." The title of a novel he wrote referring to the passing of time and one's inability to return to youth and hopes and dreams.
During the late summer, I ventured to the small rural town I grew up in. Taking photos of some of the places I used to ramble in my childhood was one of the items on my Filthy Fifty list.
I was shocked to see that one of my favorite places as a kid was still standing. Long since closed down...Isaacson's Store was the town's convenience store before 7-11 was even a thought. When the summer turned to unbearable heat, friends and I pedaled our Schwinn bicycles to Isaacson's Store for penny candy and Orange Crush to cool us off. My favorite penny candy was the little red filled licorices.
Come to think of it, I don't believe that Thomas Wolfe was correct. But rather, maybe Frank Baum was wiser "There's no place like home." Home being the peace of a cozy rainy Sunday, the feeling when you pull into the driveway after being away for some time, a quiet kiss on the forehead of a sleeping child, or the warmth of a husband's arms. Home has been many places for me over these almost Fifty years, but the meaning of home is defined by simple, blissful moments like these.