Flying Over

During the 1990s, I would visit Ohio at least three times a year, sometimes four. I'd be out on the town most every night. Imagine, if you will, spending your workday with no one to talk to, except for transacting business or office matters. Imagine then going home to an empty house, with no one to talk to there either. Imagine this, all day, every day, for days, weeks, months at a time. It was like that back then. I thought I had found a remedy. But the people I used to party with all moved on, as people are wont to do. I made the adjustment eventually. So I don't get back as much.

I heard from Rob a few nights ago. He wanted to thank me for remembering him at this weblog in the manner that I did. Of course, he appeared in a dream, so you can take it cum grano salis for all I care. It wasn't a vision of bright light, mind you -- that really wasn't his style, nor is it mine -- but one of fellowship with others. We'd gather at a table of a pub down the street, like I used to do back in Cincinnati. The company of kindred spirits can be found anywhere if you know where to look.

Occasionally they appear in a dream, as if waiting only for you and no one else. Thoughts like this occur to me when I get homesick for no good reason.
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