I’m far from home. I wish I was home. I want a banjo or an old guitar and I want to sit somewhere and write a melancholy tune about missing my home and my family. Oh, and I hope someone with a harmonica could join me in my song of woe.
Now that I think about it, I’m not missing home so much as I wish I was a hobo on a train and my fellow hobos, all of whom have musical talent, would give me a swig of their whisky, whisky they would hand me in fingerless gloves, and tell me to hang in there. They’d tell me, “you’ll find work when we get to Cali’forny, mark my words, and you’ll see you family again.”
Ah, good ol’ Toothless Joe. He’s wrong, but his hearts in the right place. He still shows us pictures of his family, but he hasn’t been home in years.
What was I saying? Oh, yes …it’s fun to go traveling’ but the core of my soul longs to be home playing Wii with my son and playing “school” with my daughters. Heck …I’d even let my youngest be a “doggie” which she always wants to be regardless of the game we happen to be playing. Usually I tell her, “no, there are no dogs at school.” I wouldn’t tell her “no dogs allowed” today. If I was home.
For now …I’ll just find a soft spot in the hay on this train car and try and get some sleep.
Don's Ego 