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“There’s no place like home.” “Who says you can’t go home?” “Home is where the heart is.” Where you once belonged. In song, on the silver screen and in narrative, home is a nostalgic subject.  Home can be many things…a state of mind, the place we lay our heads every night, or who we are with.  What it means to one can mean a very different thing to another. Since I left nearly 30 (30!) years ago, I have called my hometown home.  As we pack our bags, it no longer confuses my children when I say we are going home to visit…

I just realized with all the bams I’m starting to sound like my son’s culinary idol, Emeril Lagasse.  But strangely it fits, as recently I learned my pot-stirring helped cook up something rather surprising. Thank you, our pediatrician said. Thank you?  She had called because that afternoon my shot-fearful son was scheduled to get not one, but two vaccines.  I was confused by her words.  Thank you?  For the mayhem of our last visit?   For my son’s terrified sprint out the medical building and my cage-rattling for how the office handled (or failed to handle) my son’s intense vaccine phobia? After…