We all have a place we call home.  In most cases, this is a building – a house, with loved ones in it.  Last night, I went home – to a town that I grew up in and one that I seldom, though living near, visit.  I don’t think I realized the connection until I was sitting at the restaurant, waiting on those I was to have dinner with.

I could picture the town forty years ago when I was a small child, walking to and from school daily down the street.  I could picture the “five and dime” across the street – a place with a lunch counter that I would stop at after school as a teen with friends.

I spent some time talking with April, one of the owners of Tioga Trails Cafe.  We discussed the building, its history, my connections to its past lives.  There is a history in that town that I cannot deny.  There is a part of me that is always going to be in Owego, New York.  There is a story here that is going to take some research but that I am going to dig out and write about.  It will be a lengthy writing.  It will be a soul searching writing.  I cannot wait to start researching, combining my memories with actual history.