Home Sweet Home

I've been back in Brooklyn for a week now, and am happy to be home. I think I love my neighborhood the most in September and October, when the temperature starts to cool off and the late afternoon sunlight is all pinky-gold. I spent a great afternoon at Belmont today, sitting by the paddock, hitting exactas on 3 races, chatting to old railbirds, and soaking up a warm fall afternoon at one of my favorite places in the world. Everyone laughs when I say it, but Calyer Street smells good. I sat out on my stoop the night I returned, right after a late afternoon rainstorm had cleaned the streets and taken the humidity out of the air, just breathing it in. It smelled like home.

More interestingly, my mom is selling my childhood home. This is the only home I can remember living in with my family (We moved here when I was 2). When I go home, I still sleep in my old bedroom with its V.C. Andrews books, high school yearbooks, memories of tortured high school dorkdom, and Duran Duran scrapbooks.

So many things to remember: My brother knocked my tooth out when I came running up the small set of stairs right into his knee. Jeannine K got a bloody nose when playing Red Rover at my 6th birthday party in the backyard. My dad had a surprise 40th birthday party when I was 4. Mike Schommer caught our bush on fire around July 4th one year, and almost burned down the goddam house.

Anyway, it's not a cool old house, or anything more than a suburban tract home in Dayton, Ohio but it sure is home.