You Can Go Home Again

You just can't go inside 44 years later. We moved to this house, in Great Falls, Montana, the spring of my second grade year. We moved out two-and-a-half years later, to a rental house one street. The trees in the front yard were much smaller then, and the front yard was much bigger then. Or perhaps it was because my legs were so much shorter then.

As He Lay Dying ...

... my dad asked me how I usually style my hair, which had grown long since the last time he'd seen me. I told him I often wore it in a ponytail, as I had in his favorite childhood photo of me. He didn't comment; he just smiled.

Great Minds Run in the Same Direction?

My stepmother and I independently had the idea of scattering at least a bit of Dad, in the form of his ashes, in Montana on the first anniversary of his death. Dad always spoke fondly of his years in Montana, so I hope he'll be happy resting there. It will also be interesting for me to wrestle with overlaying childhood memories with current appearances. I expect there to be some discrepancies in size.