Even though I am 40 years old,
There is something comforting about coming home to my parents house.
No TV here.
Really spotty cell coverage.
The same old coffee cups there have always been.
A newspaper delivered every day.
Dad’s doughnut run before we all wake up.
Mom’s pancakes tomorrow.
The predictable, interchanging stack of good books.
The big, old, sweet St. Bernard on the floor.
The Bible and a chair next to the fireplace.