Disoriented in time

On the Friday following Thanksgiving, we went to a small gathering in the neighborhood where our first house is located. We moved from there more than 32 years ago. It’s a small street of story and a half Cape Cod homes. At one point during the afternoon, as dusk was setting in, I found myself looking out the front window. Across the street, and two houses down, stood our old house. For a brief moment I was disoriented, certainly disoriented in time.

My wife later reported experiencing a similar feeling as she sat talking between two of our old neighbors. A little light-headed and momentarily lost.

An hour or two later we were back in our home eating pulled-pork sandwiches with our grown children and all three grandchildren. All was well.

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