This one is fairly easy since I’m at my mom’s house, which is the house where I grew up.

Actually it’s the address where I grew up, since the house has changed significantly. Growing up, that tree would have been fresh-cut instead of fake. The town has changed too. The restaurant where I had my first real job is now an insurance company. The grocery store where I worked is a different store and looks completely different inside. The high school I (and my brother and sister) attended has closed. My old bedroom is now adorned with Winnie-the-Pooh for when The Boy comes to visit.

But there has always been change here. I suppose the first that I remember was when my parents divorced and my mother remarried. Then they changed the garage into a den. The dining room became my bedroom (I had been sharing a room with my brother, who is eight years older.) The porch became a dining room.

Despite the changes, my mom’s house is “home” and probably always will be. In 2006 when my Dad died I decided I didn’t want to be home in Ohio where his absence would be all around, so we started driving to Massachusetts overnight so The Boy would wake up at Grammy’s for Christmas.

That trip led to this Flickr picture which is my favorite picture ever:

So this is probably as obvious as can be, but it’s hard to think of anywhere I have more of a sense of place than Home, especially now that I get to share it with The Wife and The Boy.