Last weekend was picture perfect.

We headed to Connecticut on a sunny fall day.

The traffic was heavy so I assumed everyone was out and about.

I pulled into the driveway of my family home and felt my eyes well up.

My childhood home was still.

The yard was manicured, the interior vacant yet sparkling clean.

I entered the house and was taken aback that the television was not on and my mom wasn’t sitting at the kitchen table.

Welcome to reality.

Even thought the brain knows the truth, the heart is forever hopeful.

I wandered around the house and snippets of my life popped up in every corner.

We took care of some small repairs and I needed to bolt.

We revved up the recently restored VW convertible and headed for the ‘Avenue’ in Greenwich.

We cruised past my high school and many familiar spots, including my dad’s first spirits shop.

We parked on Greenwich Avenue, reminded that all the small mom and pop stores had morphed into Hermes, Lululemon and Restoration Hardware.

Even the Gap and Banana Republic had been forced out of the high end shopping district.

We settled onto the patio at Mediterraneo, a staple on the Avenue for years and consumed a delightful lunch.

Greenwichites used to dress up to stroll the Avenue which by the way, the street crossing patterns are still dictated by the policemen stationed in the middle of the avenue at the two main intersections.

Anyway, everyone in my youth wore khakis, Weejuns, white bucks and striped polo shirts.

Now even the pre-teens carry Chanel bags and sport designer eyewear.

Workout wear dominates the landscape.

Richards still stands proudly, containing all the exclusive upscale designer clothing labels and the place where Matt Lauer earned his stripes.

We drove back home with the top down and the wind blowing in our hair after a detour to Tod’s Point, now known as Greenwich Point, the beach that was my family’s home away from home.

My dad was the “beach mayor” always spotted on Sundays, relaxing and tanning his 6 foot plus frame on a canvas beach chair, reading every single item printed in the not failing Sunday NY Times (sunshine, rain, snow) except when the NY Giants had home games.

Connecticut offers much beauty and lovely memories, but it will never be the same without my dad and Queen E.’s presence.

Next on the To Do list, selling the family home.

Reality sucks.