I heard the historian rustling around this morning at 5:30 a.m. I got up when I heard him go out the front door. I stood there in my nightgown as he picked up the paper from the driveway. It was light, the sky was gray. The whole yard--our meadow--was in bloom.
We got back in to the SLC last night around 10:30. We had been up, more or less--if you count the hours shoved into a coach seat on a transatlantic flight as "up"--for a little more than twenty four hours. I slept most of the flight from Dallas-Ft. Worth to SLC, but that was about it. So it was a little strange to be up at 5:30. Continuing our fine household tradition of not ever quite enough sleep, I guess.
All last night I dreamed about children, my own and my children's children, and rivers.
We've both unpacked. I'm on the last load of laundry. I have sent the first message of what, I'm sure, will be the many it will take to resolve an insurance issue, which we put off until we got home. My son kept everything in good shape while we were gone. Bruiser came in to say hello this morning and heaved a sigh as he settled in between us on the bed.
I am glad to be home. I wish I were still there.
I am downloading the pictures and paying some bills and considering some sandals and preparing to buy food and go to Target.
Hello, everyone. I'm looking forward to seeing you. But first I hope I manage a nap.