One of the things about moving around a lot is that people start to ask you, “Does it feel like home?”
How many other transitions in life are like this: inevitable, beautiful, a blessing, and a pain so deep its aches reverberate through generations.
I’ve derided this genre for too long. I’ve got a lot of catching up to do.
So consider this a love letter from your faraway child.
Next Wednesday is just a Wednesday. No one has written any songs for Wednesday.
But for now, all I can think about is how out of place my Christmas trees looked when my neighbors have a cactus naturally growing in their front yard. And I will envy all y’all yanks up there.
And as the saxophonist stood to our applause, I silently thanked Mr. Moore for teaching me the language of time, imbuing this Saturday night with more meaning than it could otherwise have had.
I rate this millennial trend three out of five stars.
Get your laughs in, Midwesterners, but for eight-year-old Caitlin, Texas was paradise.
