You can't go home again.

Well, sure you can try, but at our ages the homes are occupied by somebody else.

I went to my hometown last Saturday, just out of curiosity. My brother and sister met me there and we had lunch at the local southern cooking buffet.

My sister and I got there early and met at the library. It is not the same library I used growing up, but it is a friendly, neutral place to leave my car for a few hours. We drove around to look at the houses we used to live in. The house pictured above is was my grandmother's. We had plenty of good times there. RIP, Nanny.

At my parent's house there was a woman sitting on the little porch, so we stopped and complemented her lavishly on the exterior improvements. She invited us in to see the inside, and wow, it really is a different house now. Gone is all the orange wood paneling in favor of textured drywall. Where the cabinets from the kitchen flowed into the dining room are double doors to the outside. Also gone is the yellow/aqua color combo in the bathrooms. (Yes, built in the late 1950's) Yes, that is exactly what it needed.

Then, we drove to the graveyard. Well, we don't have living relatives in town, so why not? We were able to find our grandparent's graves, but our parents' were elusive. And it's a big family plot, too! After lunch my brother took us to the family plot, and boy was I embarrassed. It was so easy to find if you get your landmarks fixed in your head.

Now I am becoming one of those southern ladies who wants to scrub the headstones. My uncle Floppy's headstone is completely grown over. Next time we'll bring a whisk broom, a probe, and a little edger. Maybe some spray cleaner and some paper towels too. Aunt Bess' was practically sanded over. Yep, I'm one of them now. A little early for Memorial Day, but what the heck.