Going Home

I sit on the bed looking at the milk white and blue marbled glass blown vase. The fragile glass flowers that are sitting about the rocks bring back the memories of a wonderful trip to Mexico we took with my grandparents when I was eight years old. How can it be so long ago since we have been home and seem like just yesterday? Memories flood my mind of times spent in the house set near the row of trees on the pallet of black dirt.
We have been driving for three days. The kids are restless in the truck from tired butts. I turn off the paved highway onto the dirt road, only one and quarter more miles. The butterflies start, and now I am antsy. I think I have answered the question, "Are we almost there yet?" for the last time. …