Spent the past Sunday helping little brother and his move into a new place.

I thought we moved around a lot when I was growing up. I didn't know anyone who moved as much as we did.

As I have aged, I have tried to remain.

Mostly we lived on and around the Brazos River when I was growing up. I live as close to it now as I did then.

Daddy was big on wide open spaces. We always lived in the country. He was big on get-to-gethers, whether in the summer or winter. Always a big to-do on the week-end. Kids sleeping on roll-away beds on the front porch, men folk passed out under the trees in those big metal lawn chairs, women folk sleeping two to a bed inside.

Waiting until we heard the snoring and knew the 'coast was clear' and we could head to the corn fields on the opposite side of the house and play a midnight game of hide and seek. Sneaking a kiss under the moonlight from pig tailed girls.

Sleeping til the smell of sizzling bacon and fresh coffee drifted from the kitchen to the front porch.

There was always enough. Enough room. Enough food. Enough fun. Enough love.