We spent the last two days driving from Connecticut to Chicago.

My dad has moved since a year and a half ago, the last time we were here. That house was also not the house I grew up in. Walking through this house and seeing the same art, furniture, design, and gestures of personality & style, all in a different location, I get a twin sense of familiarity and newness that is, I think, equivalent to reading a good translation.

Without the essential newness, the familar grows old. Without the basic sense of familarity, the new constitutes no surprise.