"Life moves pretty fast. You don't stop and look around once in awhile, you could miss it." - Ferris Bueller

Friday, October 27, 2006
On Going Home
As some of my Sitemeter rated 15 readers may know, there are many places in this country that I can call home. I can claim roots in the states of Virginia, California, Utah, Missouri, Washington, Georgia, and Arizona. Add to that a few foreign countries and you'll understand why - when asked by people where I'm from - I usually reply that I'm from the United States Army. Most people get it. Some people don't.

Most of my adolescence was spent in Southern Colorado. Even though it has a place near and dear to my heart, its not a place I often get to go to. It the place I learned to play football, drive a car, and fall in love - not necessarily in that order.

So this week my professional duties required me to journey west to the place of my youth. I landed at the airport in Colorado Springs and immediately discovered something I had taken for granted during my residence. There is no air here. Coming from Virginia (sea level) to Colorado Springs (7,000 feet) is quite a shock to the system if you try any physical exertion what so ever. I'm not sure what passes for breathable atmosphere here, but it isn't air.

I'm always amazed by the beauty of God's Country. The mountains are stunningly spectacular. Pike's Peak towers over them with white capped elevations which seem so close, yet at 14,000 feet its not your everyday hiking trail. Though I lived in Southern Colorado for several years, I've never been to the top. I don't have a fear of heights, its just not anything I ever got around to doing.

It is different driving around town after so many years away. Many things and places have changed, some have remained. Perhaps I'll take some time and write some more about those things later. For now I'll just close with one thought. Its good to come home every now and then, where ever that home may be.
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This blog will not be pimped by nutcase conspiracy boneheads.
I am glad you got to go "home"

There is much to be said about visiting, the place where we spent our teen years.

I feel that way, in Vegas sometimes. I still like those football bleachers, and I can't beleive how small suicide hill is.

Looking back, its a warm nastalga.

I am glad you appreciated it.
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