Sense of place

We made it home safely yesterday after a lovely weekend in Rodman. There's truly something about home. I stood in the town hall gym where I used to play endless games of basketball with every boy in the neighborhood. Shots from half court (about 15") counted for three and you had to under-arc your ball to avoid the drop ceiling. I could clearly recall last-second heroics and heated arguments over fouls that escalated into fights. The baskets are long gone, replaced by a wall-to-wall mirror on one end. Watching Greta practice dance moves, I wondered, will she and and Lincoln someday feel similiar nostalgia for South Orange, New Jersey? I fear they'll never ride their bikes alone. They certainly won't spend all afternoon after school playing outside only to come in when Mom yells, "Dinner!" But I'm sure their childhood will have its own indelible moments and memories. In the meantime, I'll continue to take lots of pictures of them when they're in Rodman.