Stand

Heard this classic number on the way home from the airport:

Stand in the place where you live
Now face north
Think about direction
Wonder why you haven't before

Now stand in the place where you work
Now face west
Think about the place where you live
Wonder why you haven't before

If you are confused, check with the sun
Carry a compass to help you along
Your feet are going to be on the ground
Your head is there to move you around

So stand in the place where you live
Now face north
Think about direction
Wonder why you haven't before

Now stand in the place where you work
Now face west
Think about the place where you live
Wonder why you haven't before

Your feet are going to be on the ground
Your head is there to move you around
If wishes were trees, the trees would be falling
Listen to reason, season is calling

Stand in the place where you live
Now face north
Think about direction
Wonder why you haven't before

Now stand in the place where you work
Now face west
Think about the place where you live
Wonder why you haven't before

If wishes were trees, the trees would be falling
Listen to reason, reason is calling
Your feet are going to be on the ground
Your head is there to move you around

I can't think of a more apropos song for my homecoming.

No doubt about it, California is calling my name. It has been for a long time, but its beckoning is louder now. More certain.

Still, Madison is where my kids live, so it is where I will Stand, both feet firmly planted, until they are launched...

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...