What is home if not the first place you learn to run from? Don’t gawk at my history with such gall.  I love my past experiences.  They have stayed with me longer than most people have.  Though I suppose I need some new stories for your silent stare. Maybe a makeover, massaging vaseline, melding memories, morphing moments  for a more meaningful, meandering frame. Because how could you live and have no story to tell?