So Mrs. Blog and I have arrived in California. Chicago is a memory, albeit a beautiful one, filled with great friends, great food and amazingly temperate summer weather. (one of the first things a Chicago friend said to me: "How can you be wearing shorts? It's freezing!")
The good part: arriving back in the states, seeing dear friends and eating bacon. Oh, glorious bacon. How I missed you. Bacon even met me at the airport--I'm not even making that up. I'll tell you about it over drinks sometime. Big, excellent, momentous things happened in Chicago. It's a wonderful place.
In transit through Heathrow. Part food court, part refugee camp.
The bad part: Moving. I hate moving in the same way I love bacon. Packing, carrying things, stressing out about what to keep and what to give away, realizing that you totally forgot about the hall closet--it's for suckers. And this is despite hiring professionals to actually haul my stuff into storage. Also bad was flying with our pets to Southern California. They were traumatized (or "traumatised," in case your name is Karl and you are worrying that I have rediscovered my American spelling roots) and we were stressed out of our minds. Fortunately, this was waiting for us:
Background: mountains. Foreground: beautiful greenery. In my stomach: a margarita.
This is the part I should be doing every day. Sitting by a "water feature"--you might know it as a "hot tub flanked by small waterfalls"--drinking a cold beer and looking out through beautiful, sunny air into a distance dominated by hazy mountains.
It's nice to finally be free of serious obligations and able to just, you know, be on vacation. And to celebrate that point, I'm going to go get another beer. Cheers.