I moved out of my parent's house in 1999. Since then about every three years (give or take) another sibling has moved out. With each loss of a family member my parents have made improvements on the house. After each child leaves for college something new arrives, whether it is a new living room set, kitchen, cable, etc. They have enjoyed sprucing up and renovating the house that I once lovingly called "home." The home I knew and loved no longer exists. I go home and there is no fighting about which of the 5 TV stations we should watch. There is no fighting about the lack of good seats. There is no fighting about who gets to sleep in a private room. No, instead there is 100 channels, a new leather couch and no fighting (though the last might be because the lack of us all living together). They have changed, man. They have changed.
Peace Corps News: (and by the way, guess where my stuff is getting shipped to. Take that Mom and Dad) Dr. Teets says my stuff is done. Though I fully expect to get to the doctor's office and have to give another two vials of blood. He is requesting to meet with me personally.