I spent all of yesterday recuperating from the three-airplane journey home from Barcelona. Although I’m not fully recovered from my jet-lag, I’m doing a little better today. Plan to do a small amount of work and play with my art supplies a little. That’s the extent of my ambition.
The dogs and one of the cats were very glad to see me, and threw a party when I came through the door at 1:30 Monday morning. The second cat, Cha Cha, remained disgruntled over my long absence and wanted me to know she didn’t approve. She’s just beginning to warm up to me again–I might even be forgiven one fine day.
Through my back fence, I see one brave daffodil growing on the other side. As you may know, we got snow in Spokane yesterday, and a few skiffs again today.
As I write this, Sadie and Bernice are conked out on the bed—you’d think they’d been the ones to make the long flights from Barcelona to JFK and from JFK to Seattle, and finally, to Spokane. It’s still fairly early; but the sun is up and the sky is cloudy and who knows what the weather will be? I don’t really care, because the old saying is true. No matter where I roam, there really IS no place like home. Besides, the birds are singing and the horses are grazing in the pasture.
Much as I love traveling abroad, I am also intrinsically American.
I love it here, problems notwithstanding.