Yesterday, we went to visit some friends in North Carolina. Joelle asked if we are going to sleep there. I said, "No, we are coming home to sleep." She asked, "Where's home?"
    I was refering to the place where we currently reside (A palace in South Carolina with our favorite generous Grizwald relatives). We have been the Randy Quaid character and his family for three months. We even spent Christmas with them and I was tempted to ask Bill to buy all of our gifts. "Here's a little list I put together. Oh, and get something nice for yourself. Put yourself down for the Jelly of The Month Club. Bill. It's the gift that keeps on giving the whole year long."
    As movie-worthy as our life has been for the past three months, we are in need of a place to call "Home." ...And we can't do that without a job.
Heading to Florida. It feels like home. Three out of four of our Bass family members were born in Florida. Two of us don't like the cold at all. Two of us have a certain joy that only comes out in the water. So, I guess it makes sense. Let's head back.
    At the dinner table, Kathleen spoke of, "when we go home," and it rolled out almost unnoticed. There you have it. I would not have noticed, if it were not pointed out to me.
    As much as I enjoy the idea of finding a hilly country home with a stream, I realize that Florida has not been sufficiently drained out of my blood. The magnetic pull is too close. If we were to make a real break from the sunshine state, it would have to be Montana (Kathleen would mutiny that) or, say, California.
    Oh yeh, we did that.