Odometer 66666 and a Return Home

Rosie and I took a trip to New York yesterday to visit my parents. The ride itself wasn't terrible, besides a few pockets of sun glare traffic and construction zones where people slowed down.

During the ride, my car had a magical moment. 66666 on the odometer. No demons flew out of the engine.

Arriving at my parents' house, my childhood home, I opened the door and took in a distinct aroma during my first breath.

My childhood home now has that stereotypical smell associated with older relatives' homes. It's hard to describe, but it's a mixture of older carpeting and furniture, cigarettes, and a touch of musty.

They don't open the windows enough.

I know they never sit on the deck because I had to clean cobwebs off of the chair and table at which I am seated. This bewilders me, as their deck is literally enclosed by a canope of trees. It's a very serene setting - sitting outside under the trees, watching birds, rabbits, squirrels, and deer run by, and hearing the sounds of the occasional car, lawn mower, or hammer and saw.

Today my father and I are going to the Yankees-Sox game at Yankee Stadium. Our final trip to the stadium we went to at least 100 times in my youth. I would imagine many are having similar pilgrimages during these final few weeks of the current Yankee Stadium before it's retired at the end of the season.