Be It Ever So Humble.....

There's no place like home. Or, so some would say. My thoughts diverge from the maudlin notion of home being some sort of blessed refuge. This probably puts me smack dab in the midst of a very small and unpopular minority. But, I make no apologies. I can write only of that which I have experienced, and I've never known "home" to be a source of comfort.
I'm not even sure where my home is anymore. Is home where you live, or is it where you came from? Is it the space you occupy or is it the space that welcomes you?
I am most "at home" when I am in the forest. That's where I feel most confident and most alive. I lose all self-consciousness surrounded by the beauty of the trees. It's strange, but when I am in the woods I feel as though I am as ancient as the mossy earth and it seems that I have been alive forever. If I sit motionless in a shadowy glade I can practically decipher messages written by the wind. I can feel myself becoming one with nature, as though I have been absorbed into the humus beneath my feet. I feel as though I have found the place where I truly belong.

Happy Birthday, Robert

The day after tomorrow, April 28, is my oldest son's birthday. He will be 28. The approach of this day fills me with melancholy as it has for the past 12 years. You see, my son has informed me he wants no part of me in his life. It's a long story, but let me assure you that I am no monster and my only crime against Robert has been loving him unconditionally. I envy those among you who can bake a cake for your son or daughter and celebrate the anniversary of his or her birth. You don't know how lucky you are.

The Last Peep

Sitting in front of me, resting comfortably in the snug confines of a lightweight cardboard carton partially shaded by clear cellophane, within easy reach of my quick and agile fingers, glittering in all its green sugary goodness, awaiting its certain demise is a marshmallow in roughly the shape of a chick, the last of my Easter Peeps.

I do not recall paying this much attention to the other 9 Peeps that crowded this box. They found their way to my mouth without too much effort on my part and with no resistance on theirs. (I should hate to be as mindless and as lacking in self-direction as a Peep.) I'm quite sure I did, in fact, ingest these petite confectionery delights. No one else in the household has developed a taste for them; that is to say that their palates have not evolved to a point that allows them to appreciate the abundance of sweetness and gooiness that is the essence of a Peep.

Dear reader, please tell me what occasion would merit the ceremonious consumption of this, my final Peep? I cannot find it in my heart to put it out of existence in one greedy gulp just because it would taste so yummy. Give me a reason.