Home

What is home?

The word, clearly, can be read in many ways. It can refer, rather bluntly, to a structure, an address, or a plot of land. It can mean, as well, an evocative notion: Molly Bloom's arias wafting through the air, or the palace and massive bed shared with Penelope. It can refer to absence, as well as presence - think of the muddied infantryman staring at the photograph of the young woman in the knee-length dress, and it can seem trite... until, suddenly, it seems vital.

When I ask Cleo if she wants to go home, the answer is usually (but not quite always) yes. But one of the activities I associate most strongly with returning home is, oddly, checking the mail; looking for evidence, that is, of contacts with the outside world, from which I just returned.

And strange, too, is the fact that one of the most moving celebrations of my home city of 10 years - of Baltimore, that is - is a song by a punk band whose members are not even, technically, from Baltimore. (They're from Towson, a suburb to the north). But, still: home's appeal can sneak up on you: especially, I gather, when you're thousands of miles abroad, playing at music festivals in Northern Europe. So, to that end, I offer All Time Low's 'For Baltimore,' an appealing conflation of love, longing, and appreciation of home. Just click here to watch one version of the 3-minute music video (you can skip the ad a few seconds in).