It was Thomas Wolfe who wrote, “You can’t go home again,” in his case because (much like John Steinbeck) he had written about his home and the people there—and the people back home did not much like the attention.
But it was Kurt Vonnegut, Jr. who truly explained why you can’t go home:
“Where is home? It’s Indianapolis when I was nine years old. I had a brother and a sister, a cat and a dog, and a mother and a father and uncles and aunts. And there’s no way I can get there again.”
It is with this thought that I embark on a day-trip in the CoW, with four generations of my family in tow: my mother (whom I will deliver to the custody of my brother), my younger daughter, and her son.