mining

A couple weeks ago I went “home” to Maryland to help my father and siblings pack up the house he and my mother bought in 1959. I place the word home in quotation marks because I haven’t considered the place my home since 1977 when a woman friend and I bought a Greyhound ticket a couple days after Thanksgiving and headed west. The ticket took us as far as we could get for twenty-five dollars. That happened to be Mobile, Alabama, where we ate some catfish, drank some Dixie Beer, and stuck out our thumbs for California.