>one and a half years after my last visit, I realize it’s time to come home.

July 6, 2007 § 6 Comments

>Nothing ever gets thrown out at our home in Florida, not even the forever torn welcome mat.

Somehow I grew up here.

She birthed me. And she’s amazing.

My old room. I was obsessed with pop art.

When I was in high school, I used to go to bookstores and spend hours looking through photography books. There was one that stuck with me all about bored couples. I never saw the book again, but when I walk by cafes and see two people eating together, staring out at nothing, I wish I had purchased it. (The link to Martin Parr’s pictures is the closest I could come to finding the book.) Here’s my own series:



This one of my parents is not staged. (Beautiful, right?)

Warm Florida rain.

Dad loves to play Scrabble with mom and me.

ye olde beloved dictionary.

Almost three hours playing one game of Scrabble. Mom wins (as always) with 213. I came in with 192. Dad trailed behind. (For his dignity, I won’t report the score.) Tomorrow night, victory is mine!

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§ 6 Responses to >one and a half years after my last visit, I realize it’s time to come home.

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