My Old Kentucky Home

I received a letter from my very best friend in the whole wide world today. She lived beside me for many, many years in Kentucky. We said we'd keep in touch when I moved and, surprisingly, we did. I sent her a package last week filled with little goodies for her and her grandparents. I love opening the mailbox to find a letter from her. I miss her a lot.

I do intend on heading back up to Kentucky soon; on my next break from school, actually. It'll be the first time I'll have been up there since May 8, 2003 (my father died April 7, 2003 and they rushed me out of there). It'll be a bit hard, I suppose. Back to the place I grew up after over two and a half years away. I dread visiting my father's grave (since I've never seen it). I know I have to go by it, for myself and for him. I also dread seeing the house I grew up in and loved so much being lived in by someone else. Well, I'm reminded of the Wynonna Judd song ("Flies on the Butter") where she says: "There's a blacktop road, a faded yellow center line, it can take you back to the place, but it can't take you back in time."