It’s a new day, a new week, and soon to be a new month. It comes after a great weekend of reminiscing with lifelong friends about good times as kids and rites of passage, in a way. As a now seventy-something, I never cease to be amazed by friendships that have lasted nearly 60 years, begun in the sun and sand, at the lake and in the forest, by a gang of kids with virtually nothing in common except the friendship of their parents (you cousins, etc., with family connections can ignore that observation ;^)). Our friendships have endured through decades of lost connection, new directions, life events, and false starts at reconnecting. It feels like this time technology is giving us the tool needed to keep this gang connected and vital – thanks Pam!

As we chatted through our new Facebook group I started remembering way more than I chose to mention, because it seemed like I should save some of it for future conversations, just to keep the dialogue going. I was also prompted to dive back into this blog/journal to help dredge up a few more recent memories I could share with the gang. I hadn’t posted since August of 2017 because an awful lot of life got in the way, and I feel like I lost my way. At the end of that post I closed with, “Finding my way back home…”.

Well, it’s been a journey far too long on a road with lots of washouts and potholes, but I think I found home last weekend … right where it’s always been; with my family, my friends, and my faith. Thanks, Gang, for being the lighthouse I needed to show me the way. I’m finally back to a place where I can enjoy my relationships, pursue my passions, and share my passages and journey again.

I’m sitting with D. in what feels like a treehouse of a screened porch, letting the views of solid forest, and the chatter of chipmunks, squirrels, and birds wash over me, wrapped in seven decades of life to keep me comfy. Seems like a perfect writing studio to me. I hope the words that come out of it will make a difference to my children and grandkids when they share Pop-Pop’s memories from now on. In fact, I hope they make a difference to all who read them.

Someday I’ll share more about those washouts and potholes of the last three years, when the memories aren’t quite as raw as they are today.

Meanwhile, I promise to always write from my home … straight from the heart … Pops