Visiting my childhood home has become an event tinged with sadness. It is an old house and was over 200 years old when I was a child so it has seen some wear. But when I was a child it didn’t look like wear, it was home. Now I see all the foxing, rubs and “patina”. It is hard to see and harder to accept the fact that each visit may bring the last dinner eaten around the table. It is just time, and there is no holding it back or slowing it down. That season of loss is coming on a timetable all its’ own.