..... and a Happy New Year

There is no place like home. No matter if you've just spent the last seven months in the Land of Plenty. No matter if you're thousands of miles away from family. No matter if you've left a pretty good life for one in a developing country. No place is like home.
We moved into our rambling old house when I was about two years old, and have spent the last fifteen years making into a comfortable abode full of good memories. Our city has grown, modernized, is constantly altered with bottles of grafitti spray paint, and confirms the theory that the world is faithfully degenerating in the never-ending downward spiral. Never the less, there is no geographical location that I know better or feel more comfortable in. As dad walked up the creaking stairs to his bedroom, he called across to my mother, "Oh, I love our house!"; only a verbalization of what I've been exalting in.
The first day of the new year was celebrated with a lamb and beef cookout in the bright summer sunshine, and the air breathed into my ear, "Home".