Homesickness.

I think being faced with the prospect of leaving California and returning to school in Florida (a thought which heralds the need for sedatives) has me thinking a lot about my nomadic life. It is my belief that in such times, we often revert back to missing the place(s) we originally emerged from, in my case, upstate New York and the Adirondacks. It is where I was born, and was my first home, and I miss the purity of it. Everything is so clean and crisp and natural, much like many of the spots I've come to love on the West Coast, especially in places like Seattle, Gig Harbor, and Napa. There is room for marshmallow roasting, canoeing, and long talks by the lake as the sockeye salmon simmers on the grill. People are so real, and are not sullied on a regular basis by the materialism it is so easy for all of us to get caught up in. I miss that so, so much, and it is absolutely nowhere to be found in Florida. A little bit of advice to all of you: never, ever, move to Florida unless you are lucky like me and have parents that happen to settle on the First Coast/in St. Augustine, which is the only figment of the state that values anything that is more than 20 years old. Florida is not a state of old souls, thus making my life there somewhat..lonely.

And whatever you do, do NOT assume Miami is a tropical paradise. It is more like an Inferno, the Dante kind, complete with all of the accouterments and personalities present in his nine circles.

On a brighter note, I love these little bits and pieces of my hometown in NY...