I'm waitng for my plane to take me home. Home is a relative term, though, as I used to consider houston home. People would ask where I was from and i'd claim houston as I lived here for three of my childhood years - longer than any place until I went to mexico city for all of high school - but can you count a foreign country as home? So I believed houston was as much as anywhere. I always remembered our address: 11707 glenway dr houston tx 77070. I loved my years here. My sister andrea, though, hated her years here - funny that she's the one who now lives here again. She pointed out that one of my worst life experiences happened while we lived here and we watched more R rated traumatizing movies here. Not to mention the monster sized roaches we'd battle daily. Ah, the memories! i'm glad I have them and i'm glad they all happened. And i'm glad we could drive by our old house last night and reminisce. The dark brown wood inside seems to now be white and we spied an exercise machine in our old dining room - but the stairs where I spent many quiet reflective moments appeared to be a similar hue of brown and the arches where we found countless locust shells still frame the porch and the yard seems to have never ridded itself of pine needles. And I was really happy to see that the elementary school at the mouth of our street still has an armadillo as its mascot. I only wish we'd had time to walk around the playground and surrounding woods.