A Sort of Homecoming

What a difference a few thousand miles can make.

I was up at 6:30AM in Dublin. It was already light and it had rained overnight. The temperature was around 70 - comfortable - as I hit the shower and did my very last minute packing. An hour later, I was in a cab traveling through the overcast city on the way to the airport. My final ride in Dublin. At least for the foreseeable future.

Ten hours later, I arrived at JFK where the temperature was a balmy 91 and the humidity was at least 80 percent. Hazy, hot and humid - a standard NYC summer day. My body is going to take some time to adapt, but one thing is for certain - stepping into that muggy parking lot outside the terminal felt like home. As did the ride from Kennedy to my mother's house in suburban Westchester County.

Idiots traveling at 60 MPH in the left hand lane. Pimped out Toyotas, Volkswagens and Escalades weaving through traffic. The countless black Lincoln Towncars making their myriad runs to and from the airports. People flipping the bird, shaking fists out the windows, tailgating. Chaos. Home.

Of course, as I sit here in the bedroom where I grew up, I realize this place isn't really home anymore. At least, not for me. It's most definitely my mother's house - she's lived here nearly 45 years, the last 20 of them on her own. Sure, it still looks pretty much the same from the outside, but when I walked in this afternoon, there were two electricians in finishing up the wiring in her brand new kitchen. It's modern and sleek. She's even put in a wine fridge. I don't recognize the place at all. Of course, the paint and wallpaper all look the same - at least for now. She's redoing all the walls next month.

By then, however, I'll be gone again. Off to Las Vegas, my new home, a glittering city in the middle of the desert a few thousand miles away.