The longest “home” building of my life, and the longest one I still have access to is the home of my first husband’s parents.

For 20 years now I have walked through that door and tried hard not to kill myself on their front steps.  This morning, my son and I stopped by on the way to the airport and were met with the smell of still warm cinnamon rolls.  It was a wonderful family visit.

If you turn right out of their subdivision, then the quick & strange left at the light you are on one of the anchor roads of my life.  I have sat in a ’90 Geo Storm (awwww yeah) in awe of the size and density of the suburbs (and judging, in a way I am now embarrassed by), I have taken the wheel and driven my first husband back to his family home, I have driven Wise Rd by myself, and I have driven it with my second husband (and then also with our son) in tow.

I know how to take to take the corner of Wise and Roselle when I want to be airborne, and how to pretend that you can’t get airborne on that corner.

I have driven that road in every weather and in every mood.  For being nowhere near any place I’ve actually lived – it is how I know I’m home.

 

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