Green Green Grass Of Home

Resting on the soft grounds of the Cal campus

Once when I was talking about moving to California when my kids go off to college, my Dad said he hoped it wasn't a case of me thinking the grass is greener.

Being out here, I realize that I don't just think it's greener, it is greener.

Just ask Tom Jones:

The old home town looks the same as I step down from the train,
and there to meet me is my Mama and Papa.
Down the road I look and there runs Mary hair of gold and lips like cherries.
It's good to touch the green, green grass of home.
Yes, they'll all come to meet me, arms reaching, smiling sweetly.
It's good to touch the green, green, grass of home.
The old house is still standing, tho' the paint is cracked and dry,
and there's that old oak tree that I used to play on.

Down the lane I walk with my sweet Mary, hair of gold and lips like cherries.
It's good to touch the green, green grass of home.
Yes, they'll all come to meet me, arms reaching, smiling sweetly.
It's good to touch the green, green grass of home.

Berkeley may not actually be my home yet, but it sure feels like it. More than any other place I've ever been...