"There are two ways of getting home...

...and one of them is to stay there." - G.K. Chesterton, The Everlasting Man.

But I have chosen the other way (it involves walking the whole way round the world until returning to the place where you started) and now I sit at my old desk in my old room amid the ghosts of childhood past.  For the first time in 10 years, I am spending the summer at home.

I have been here less than a week, but it feels longer.  (This is no reflection on my parents' company .  It is rather a tribute to the number of things we have managed to accomplish in the past few days). 

The Small Town seems pretty much as it always was, though I am assured that things have changed. 

My father's health is improving, though still not all one could wish.

We have done a great deal of work on the theatre's summer season, though the number of things we still must do makes my head spin.

No sooner did I accept that he was out of my life for good, than I got a call from The Impossible Man.  We have traded voice mails.  Part of me is happy to hear from him.  Another chunk of me wishes he would leave me alone.

I have just re-read this post and come to the conclusion that, even at the disgracefully early hour of 8pm, I am too tired to blog in any but boring fashion.

More tomorrow...