Home.

There is a Windows laptop that sits on my SO’s desk. It really serves one purpose: to be a time clock for their day job. Work sent it, and it is what they have to use to connect to the time clock to record their hours.

Mostly it just sits there idle, with the default startup screen: the time, and a Scenic Photo of the Day.

Yesterday I passed by and realized, wait, that’s a familiar place. I looked closer. It was City Park in New Orleans; a dramatic photo of the sun rising or setting over a footbridge that I’ve crossed many times. I know exactly where to stand to get that view. I’ve seen it many times when I cross another nearby footbridge if I’m taking the shortest walking route from my home to the coffee shop in the park.

And somehow that felt really weird. It’s always some gorgeous, far-away place on that screen. Never one I know. But, oh yeah. I’m from a gorgeous, mythical place that has songs written about longing to be there. I’m from a strange, exotic tourist destination.

  1. And I feel really really lucky that when I gave up trying to get by in one Big City after another – Los Angeles, Boston, Seattle – I could come back home to this lazy little town, full of beauty and strangeness.

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