Back when Dali, Sammie Cat and I came here to clear our heads after Hurricane Katrina so I could make some difficult decisions; I read Thomas Wolfe's "Look Homeward Angel" for the very first time. The meaning of "home" had escaped me living in my flood ravaged house on Columbus Street.
My Dad said:
"Go to France, Laury."
We did.
I still struggled with home.
By Christmas of 2006 the decision had been made.
I was in France. Columbus Street was being repaired so I could rent it out and be able to live here in Cadrieu with my Dali Dog and Sammie Cat.
Of course, it wasn't that easy.
As I was reading Thomas Wolfe, he spoke to me.
Fogs cleared. I didn't struggle so much.
But when I did, I'd found something wonderful that helped me. I won't make you look for it yourself. I'll put Wolfe's last page, last paragraph, right here for you:
--Yet, as he stood for the last time by the angels of his father's porch, it seemed as if the Square already were far and lost; or I should say, he was like a man who stands upon a hill above the town he has left, yet does not say "The town is near," but turns his eyes upon the distant soaring ranges.--
THE END
When I did struggle, I'd often picture myself upon a high place above a place I'd just left; holding Thomas Wolfe's hand.
Visualizing was usually enough.
But when it wasn't, I had more than enough high, beautiful places to go.
High or low, holding Thomas's hand or not; the Lot always brought me home.