Back from England, just in time for the L.A. heat wave. This weekend I hope to upload some pictures and excerpts from my travel journal. For now, let’s just say sights were seen and calm was not always kept.
I love the first day home after an international trip: I feel so confident and competent on my home turf. I know how the bill is supposed to be paid at restaurants. There are ten people I can call if I get in a jam. My cell phone works. There is no mystery to the flushing of toilets. (I know, I was in England, not Egypt, but there was some magical flick of the wrist that I kept missing when it came to flushing in the UK. It always took me like three tries.)
Not to mention the comforts of home: my car, the full contents of my wardrobe, the heat-ravaged cats draping themselves dramatically across cool surfaces.
When I got home after a quick Trader Joe’s trip this afternoon, Ferdinand came running toward me, concerned that maybe I was about to skip town again. To get to me, he had to cross a strip of round stones next to our sidewalk. They’d heated up in the sun and shocked his little paws so much that he hissed as he ran across them. So he essentially walked across hot coals to see me. Not on purpose, but still. That’s love.