A moment of morning reflection
I don't have a home. No, that is absolutely neither a problem nor a complaint. I was born when Dad ("D") was working on his PhD. We moved when he had a teaching position, I was 2. At 10 we moved to greater Cincinnati (actually, Northern Kentucky.) I left home at 17 and never really returned. University in Cleveland. Then I found a job in Chicago. In that period Mom ("M") and Dad moved a few miles to a much nicer house. The new house never had a "Jimmy's Room," as the previous one did. The original one in KY did. And one (each) for my sister ("S") and brother ("B"). The move meant I never returned to 'my room.' Again, not a problem. It's just a lack of an emotional anchor. When I'd visit, I'd stay in what had been B's room. It was never mine; it's still known as his. S had a room but didn't spend much time there either -- to my knowledge it's referred to as "The Guest Room&qu