The hills of home

Sometimes I feel like I'm caught in "Groundhog Day."

Not that my days repeat. Far from it. But I often marvel how things stay the same as much as they change.

I was at the old high school football field tonight. Got a request today to announce the spring practice Red and White Game. I thought back to when I first did so, as a high school freshman, in 1993. If you'd have told me then I'd be doing it again 13 years later, I'd have laughed.

But, at this point, I can't see myself anywhere else. I'm at home here. I feel like in my own small way I'm doing something good for the community.

It's not always easy. And writing is a solitary craft. It's you and your words. That's both therapeutic and tempestuous.

But if I have my say about it, I'll still be sitting here 20 years from now, going to meetings and covering the Red and White Game. This is my home.

If New York comes calling, I'd give it a look. Never say never.

Whatever happens, though, these hills will always be home. I wouldn't have it any other way.