I find it interesting that after striving for 30 years to be separate and apart from our families, The Househusband and I are contemplating a move back “home.” Although we have decried that small place is a cultural backwater, a gossip’s delight, a town hundreds of miles from anywhere, we also realize that despite living in a large metropolitan area all this time, we haven’t availed ourselves of its amenities more than a handful of times in the last few years. More and more, anything we can get here can at least be ordered from websites and delivered there. The one thing we are still unsure of is the quality of medical care since we are aging daily and definitely won’t be needing the orthopedists who repair the typical skiing injuries, bull-riding accidents, or tractor-pull manglings, but instead need internists competent to service bodies that are just breaking down of their own accord. Oddly enough, it is the idea that our own son could move back here next year for grad school that keeps us teetering on the brink of deciding to pull up stakes and move back to the “homestead” as it were.