You Can't Go Home Again (Or Can You?): Part Two

Yesterday I began the tale of my weekend trip to visit my family back in Arizona. Where I left off, I had just arrived in town and been picked up. From there, it was a drive from downtown out to the old homestead by Scottsdale. It's said to be in Scottsdale, but I believe it's technically inside Phoenix. The neighborhood straddles the line. I don't mean to quibble or appear to desire to be in one city or the other- I just like to be exact. Anyway, it's basically Scottsdale and is definitely a suburban-type neighborhood.

The first thing that tends to happen when I go back is a tour of recent renovations that further eradicate the house of my memories. I'm not against that. The house was a work in project from the first day, and I do have the memories. It's just a bit unsettling. My room disappeared a long time ago, becoming Mom's study and studio. Were I to come home in an inebriated state, I might well wonder why my key opened the door of a stranger's house. Latest on the hit list is the back yard, which has been entirely worked over to include a variety of new amenities and features.

Filling In The Gaps

To get back into the swing of things: Thanksgiving was really very nice. Flying is always a minefield, and managed to only step on the edge of one in getting the last flight on my return delayed. There was nothing to complain about, really. I'm only human; I'll suffer through about anything if a free Heineken is offered as a salve at the end.