I stomped my old grounds yesterday. I’m in Houston. My home for nearly fifty years. I love the freeways and the byways and the highways. The old streets and the new streets. The crowds. The traffic. The life it all represents. You flow through it all and before you know it you’re on a little backstreet just off Montrose, and there’s a venue, and there’s music and friendly faces who remember you. And the guitars start and the songs flow and before you know it, midnight comes and off you go.

To really get me into the spirit of my return, it rained last night. But that was no impediment, just a glossy cover that made everything sparkle. And I’ll say this for Houston’s city fathers they made sure we could get around, because the city is flat and why not. There’s traffic for sure but there are ways around it and you can go east and west, north and south and points in between at a pretty good clip, especially late at night. So, I flew home to my daughter’s house without much of a hiccup, even with wet roads.

I wondered last night as I drove through the museum district what it would be like to come back and spend more time in this vibrant city with it’s art and music and pulsing life. I like the Hill Country and my little slice of turf, but I have lots of good big city memories and it would be nice to hear the symphony, watch a play, see a new art exhibit, be part of the ebb and flow of a big city. Food for thought, and thought is good food, and I’m thinking that I like this city where I made a life for myself and my family. It’s a city on the move always thinking about the future and I believe I still have one.

John W. Wilson is the author of The Long Goodbye: A Caregiver's Tale