i got in last night, and we did an easter re-run dinner then sat around talking about 9/11, the fate of kelly rippa's dermatologist, the ken burns documentary on cancer, the position of "ambassador at large," the role martha mitchell played in the watergate crisis, how hard it is not to call "martha mitchell" "margaret mitchell," how the hair has started falling off the vieve's ears, and the tricks memory and media play on one's recall of experience.
and there was a point, where i actually said aloud, in both surprise and relief, oh yeah, this is why i'm me. because we're all like this. and then i, at my mother's request, i told the the story of how martha mitchell called helen thomas in the dead of night and told her some men had held her hostage in a california hotel room because they didn't want the truth about watergate getting out.
i don't know that i really believe in home anymore, at least not as a place. but i will say this: it's good to be home.