Often you hear the expression, that you can’t go home again.  Going home is a state of mind, A PLACE WHERE YOU WERE SAFE, be it a location, a person, or in your mind & heart.  A friend of mine calls it Bittersweet. No one can really go home again, as it truly is never the same.  Ever try going back to a place where you previously lived & were very happy?  Things never are the same, as you remember them.  First, usually, when you reach that mental state of mind, people have either changed, moved or have died.  Landscaping has changed.  That tree that your child brought home from kindergarten that “ you just have to plant to put air back again.”  Now it has been cut down & taken away. The prize peonies & roses are replaced with concrete & a new garage.  The interior of the house is not quite as you remember it, or totally different.  Our family home was sold a number of times.  My son, went to go through it with his children, the last time it was for sale. He said, when he came home, “Mom!  I never realized that my bedroom was so small!  As a child, it was the biggest spot in the world.  It was his domain! I went back to take pictures of the old house recently.  Someone

completely remodeled it.  It was a ranch, with a garage & bomb shelter underneath, the

first half of the house.  The landscape sloped, making the back of the house a second floor. A full front porch replaced what was a half porch. Now it has an upstairs, with lovely offsets for windows.  We had four bedrooms in our house.  I have to wonder, if the family living there now is large or if they needed more space.  But for a very short sixteen years, it was our palace!  The few times Pop had to baby-sit, he left our precious boy climb a mulberry tree, getting his overalls caught, by the seat of his pants.  Now, it is gone, as well as those dirty mulberries.  Anyone that has ever hung wash out on a line, know what a mess, the birds & berries make on your laundry.  Then there was the day, I had a God awful fight with hubby, until he finally dug the trench for our 18×16 size patio. I’ll never forget the Schumacher- Omar Khayyam draperies & the wall paper, that cost me a fortune, or the painter that spilled a whole gallon of yellow-green paint on the rug in the hallway.  Lastly, I’ll never forget those Thanksgivings, Christmas’s, family picnics, birthday parties, wedding receptions that were held in those years at home.  All will only live in our memories & hearts forever.  Bittersweet & painful to say the least!!!

As the Christmas song says, “I’ll Be Home For Christmas, If Only In My Dreams”.






Oh, my little Tinicum boy.

Romped thru the woods & stream. 

Carefree days of yore,

Jumping from rock to rock,

Hunting nature’s copious bounty,

No hint of future changing events,

Only joy for his childhood dream.


Where has my little boy gone?

His memory in final days,

Turns to the carefree, playful times,

Gone but soon lingering in the heavenly stream,

Where little boys play, contentment abound,

He is home again, his legacy secured.

A never changing scenery, his at last!