Spring in October?

I turned my air conditioning off this weekend. That is, until I tried to watch the Notre Dame game and realized that my digital converter box doesn't work with the window open. So, with that exception, I turned the A/C off.

I had forgotten what the scent of fresh air through windows was like. In fact, I think I wrote off fresh air as something that does not exist in Phoenix. Tonight it has been nothing but delightful. It smells a little like....Spring. It smells like the first time you open everything up, clean the house, and let all the air back in. But, it's October 5.

But, I also forgot that I need earplugs if I'm going to sleep with the windows open. With this realization came the second thing I forgot - most people warn me about leaving windows open in my first floor apartment in Central Phoenix. But I figure if somebody wants to come in that badly, they would have just broken my window anyway. Right? Right. Sweet Dreams.

Tour D'Eiffel

I can't help but to give the Tour D'Eiffel a tribute of it's own. It has made its way into the background of several pictures already, but maybe it's time to officially pay my respects. This morning I remembered that I took some short, low quality videos of the Tower at night. These were taken on two different nights...I wasn't kidding about staying in just to sit and stare at it. I hope you enjoy this collection.

I was surprised that it is actually bronze in appearance up close.

I'd have more pictures from this angle or even part way up the tower, but a huge rainstorm took over Paris not long after I arrived at the base.

This was my first view of the Tower (above) and close up (below) the day I arrived.

This is from the top of Notre Dame Cathedral

Paris: Installment 4

Despite the endless assortment world-famous cuisine at my fingertips, the real treat was eating in, which I did four of five nights. With this view and a more than proficient host-chef, it was just as appealing (not to mention cheaper) to relax at home. One evening was better suited for wine, music, and reading our own respective pieces of literature, while another called for conversation laced through scotch and cigars; seemingly nonchalant words carrying the weight of the world. Every evening offered a sun that, with each sip of wine, sunk lower on the horizon as the clouds shifted in shape and color over Paris. It felt surreal to look at the sun, moon and stars, and believe that they were the same elements of the universe I viewed from Phoenix, a mere 5, 481 miles across Earth.

More Paris: The Rodin Museum

One day, after the Musee D'Armee (his pick), we went to the Rodin museum (my pick). Of all the museums in Paris, this is the one that I knew I wanted to see. You see, ages and ages ago I was a huge fan of pairs figure skaters Gordeeva and Grinkov. (I just spend about a half hour weeping over old youtube videos of these two amazing skaters.) If you're not a pairs skating guru, worry not--but the background is that this pair was the most amazing example of romantic love and affection. They were married young, but years after they had been paired together, and then he died suddenly in Lake Placid, age 28, of a heart attack. Their Olympic skate to Moonlight Sonata was stunning. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pScMmrR2QUE&NR=1 Watch it and weep. What I always loved about this performance is the way she looks at him after it is completed, as if seeking reassurance. (In reality, she was asking if he had done a double or single axle or something, and you can notice his almost-imperceptible headshake, "no"- they won the gold anwyay). He died a year later.

Back to my point. Paris, Rodin. They also did a skate to "Vocalise" by Rachmaninoff--one of my all-time favorite composers. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JZ8Amo7fSuM&feature=related In this skate, many of their poses were inspired by the work of August Rodin. Hence, the root of my interest in the sculptures of Auguste Rodin.

My favorite: "Idole Eternelle"
(Eternal Idol)
Auguste Rodin

I took this picture in the gardens outside of the museum. You can see the Eiffel Tower blurred in the background, and the Hotel D'Invalides to the left.

"The Thinker"
I found a mini version of this for my office the other day at Marshall's. I love it.

"Hand of God" - side A

"Hand of God" Side B

"The Kiss"

(How I feel during Yoga.)

(Not a Rodin)
"Fillete pleurant"
by Albert Bartholome

No, this is not a Rodin scultpure. I found this in the Musee D'Orsee, and still loved it. I related to it. Can't you all, at some time or another?

Hope you have enjoyed the mini Rodin tour I've left a bit out, and didn't elaborate much...but, you get the drift.

Paris, Installment 2

Onward to more photos:

I took these photos from the VERY top of Cathredale Notre-Dame de Paris when I returned on Monday. The sun was my reward, after I waited without sans jacket or umbrella in what turned out to be a tremendously long, chilly and drizzly early afternoon line. The wind whipped at the top, and when my hair wasn't slapping me in the face I had an amazing 360 panorama of the city. Unfortunately I had worn a skirt that day, so everyone up there got two shows for the price of one.

Earlier that morning I had walked by the Louvre, over the Pont Neuf, visited Saint Chapelle and , quite by accident, Eglise Saint-Severin. It was here that I saw the most unique stained glass, very modern looking with rich colors (below).

Don't get me wrong, Saint-Chapelle was indeed the Tiffanyesque show I had heard of, but I expected it to be. But this stained glass was unusual compared to any traditional art I've ever seen. The reason I found Saint-Severin is because there was a man begging on its steps. I stopped with spare change and he gestured me inside. "It's open?" I asked. I never would have noticed it otherwise. He was my angel that morning. When I walked to the back, I heard voices and found that there was a small noon mass taking place in the very back, in one of the chapels. The crowd was full, but I arrived just as it ended.

That day had to pull myself over due to rain for a lunch stop. Two other tourists on their own took shelter on the same covered patio. A German and an American. We lamented the weather; it was really raining hard. I ordered a coffee (it's the size of an espresso over there), cursed myself for not ordering a cafe Americain (biggie), and a ham and cheese crepe, which turned out to be mediocre. It was after this that the rain let up enough for me to stand in line for Notre-Dame.

After Notre-Dame, I had one adventure left planned for the day. I had heard of the most fabulous macaroons from Shannon. She vowed that I absolutely HAD to find Laduree and eat their macaroons. I crossed out of the Ile de Cite to a Hotel de Ville metro station that would shoot me up to the Champs Elysees, in hot pursuit of 75 Avenue Champes-Eylsees. I walked up the slope along the right hand side towards the Arc de Triomphe. This area of Paris was by far my least favorite. Very commercial, very busy. I may as well have been walking in Atlanta. Bleh. I was so disenchanted (and tired of waiting in lines) that I paused for about 6 seconds to take a photo of the Arc before turning around to hunt further for my macaroons. It took me a while to figure out that I'd walked right by it earlier, but it was on the opposite side of the road. But oh, when I saw it, it was as though I had found the Holy Grail!

I entered and stood in yet another long line, this time behind other salivating patrons.

I took this photo and was quickly reprimanded. NO PHOTOS!

Here they are, the mini macaroons. Granted, they are different than the traditional macaroons we know and love here in the States. I can hardly describe how amazing these were. They came in all flavors - chocolate, caramel, vanilla, pistachio, raspberry, and the list goes on. I bought a dozen. Piggishly I opened the pretty box as soon as I left, and put a caramel macaroon in my mouth. That moment was probably as good as any other. Exhausted but content, I grabbed the nearest metro to head back home. I was blissfully proud of my find, and that I was bringing something home that I knew my host had not tasted in all the months he had lived there. I couldn't wait to share my treats.....but nothing goes that smoothly for me....

After the metro I, walked the opposite direction at the boulangerie for a baguette. I had been on my feet for about 8 hours and was nearly crying in pain. But, I thought we needed some bread and wine. I ordered my baguette, and walked several blocks that seemed like miles each. It was at the moment I was within sight of the apartment that I looked at what I was carrying. NO! The macaroons were gone! In moments, I was sure enough that I left them at the counter of the boulangerie where I was counting out Euros. Words can't properly describe how crushed and angry I was with myself for being so careless (and this was the day before the bike incident at Luxembourg). The problem was that I was physically so tired that I could hardly imagine walking all the way back to the Boulangerie, and then making it to the apartment too. I decided, however, that there was no way that showing up back home without my precious macaroons would not make me dissolve into a tired and pathetic pool of Parisian tears. (Did I mention that these 12 macaroons would have been about twenty American dollars?!). When I walked into the Boulangerie, I immediately saw my small bag set away in the back behind the counter. Luckily, I was much more comfortable with my French by then. Some version of "J'ai oblier mon petite sac - la!" came out (apologetically so, for this bakery also made macaroons, so in a way, leaving the bag from famous Laduree on their counter was a total faux pas). But they happily returned the bag to me. We ate almost the entire box in one sitting, and all was right in the world again.

It's time to be late for work. Stay tuned for more Paris in days to come. It turns out I remember a lot.

Paris: Installment 1

In the name of procrastination, I somewhat reluctantly begin a new post today. (And sort of out of a need to think about anything but Notre Dame football.) In my mind, so much had taken place since my last entry that I planned to pick one or two photos from each trip or event, and post them all here with a brief recap. It didn't take long for me to decide that is really just a copout, and I need to give a little more credit to my adventures. So today I will write about Paris. Another day I will write about other places.

How is it that I ended up in France this summer? The simple answer is that I took advantage of an opportunity. I know someone who lives there, who invited me to consider including Paris in my summer travels. The timing worked out. It seems as though I've wanted to go to France forever. Yes, I took French courses from seventh grade until my sophomore year at Notre Dame, and until this summer, had yet to find a reason to use the language outside of homework assignments and class presentations. Besides, who doesn't want to go to Europe? Anybody who knows me can tell you that I've been itching to travel abroad for years. And finally, this is the first summer of my life that I have had a real vacation. June 16-August 5 left weeks for me to play, while still receiving my paycheck every two weeks. For as much as I ran myself ragged last year, I now am invigorated as I return to school, knowing that another summer vacation awaits.

The day I arrived, I was left largely on my own. It was at once terrifying and liberating. Cary (the host) met me at my gate, and we took one a train and a subway, and a bus too, I think, to get to his place. He gave me a pass that would get me on and off all public transportation for five days, thus sparing me what would have added up to hours of frustration at ticket machines everywhere I went. The small apartment had a full view of Paris the Eiffel Tower. I probably could have sat there all day long, but we left quickly so that he could go to a bank appointment and back to work He gave me a set of keys for his place, and informed me that I was in charge of getting food for dinner. (Panic.) I walked as far as the bank and then train station with him, trying hard to memorize my return trip. At the bank, I withdrew my first Euros. Hungry, and disoriented from the time change, I walked directly back home. I felt a little defeated by my lack of energy to immediately conquer Paris, but I knew I needed to recharge. I purchased my first sandwich: une baguette avec jambon, fromage, et buerre. The order was awkward and included much pointing and a facial expression that said "I am SO sorry I am an American idiot." (I think the woman was more sorry for me that I was an American idiot.)

I continued to walk, and my stomach dropped as I realized that although I had keys to the apartment, I had no recollection of which apartment it was once I got inside the building. I had no phone, no number for him even if I found a phone, no real idea where I was, and a much-expired memory of the language. Luckily, I do have a steel trap for details, and vaguely remembered a number on his door that began with "11." When I got to the building, I could not for the life of me figure out how to get inside. I kept pressing a little button on the keychain, and nothing happened. Finally a woman let me in and I realized that I was supposed to just wave the key in front of the sensor. I went to the eleventh floor, approached the apartment I prayed was his, and tried for what seemed like an eternity to unlock the door. I was relieved that the keys worked enough that I knew it was the correct apartment (otherwise I knew I would have some terrified resident calling the police on me), but was increasingly frustrated that I couldn't unlock it, and imagined myself sitting pathetically in a heap of tears for the next four hours until he came home. Luckily, that wasn't the case. I let myself in, ate, slept, and set out for Paris.

Here is an assortment of photographs. Each one a memory. They are not in chronological order, something that would traditionally drive me crazy, but I'm okay with it today. Each photo will give me a story to share.

This (above) is what I ended up purchasing on my first day. Green beans, potatoes, a grapefruit, baguette, cheese, and wine. I knew I had partially failed, for there was obviously no real entree whatsoever. It was clear that we would have to shop again when he came home. During this first day, I realized what it must feel like to be a shy person. I meekly stumbled through my orders, insecure about each word that came out of my mouth. The butcher shop, fish shop, etc were too intimidating for me. I couldn't figure out what half the things were, let alone how to prepare them.

I was charmed to no end that everything was exactly as I learned in French class. The small shops delighted me: Boulangerie, Patisserie, Fromagerie, Charcuterie (sp?), Poisssonerie. One shop for cheese, one for baguettes, one for the meats, one for the wine, etc. Walking into these shops made me smile and giggle as I recalled our overly expressive group skits in French class. "BonJOUR monsiuer! Ca va?! Je prends une baguette et deux croissants. Merci beaucoup!" Yet what would come out of my pathetic mouth in the first day or two was what Cary told me to default to when I am stuck: "Desolee, mon francais n'est pas bon" aka: My French is no good. As my short time in France progressed, I became more comfortable with the language. I spoke with greater conviction, out loud and with a smile. Just in time for me to fly away.

Many evenings were spent just like this. Sit on the balcony, watch the Eiffel Tower. Watch the sun set, and wait for the five minutes each hour during which the tower would sparkle. With silver dollar eyes and a watermelon smile, I'd stare at it, breathing "Ooooh, it's sparkling again!" Hours would pass each night just this way. No sunset was the same.

This picture was taken at the Musee D'Armee. (Army Museum, located next to the Hotel D'Invalides, location of Napolean's tomb.) I like it because I was sticking my head into these gigantic cannon, which was actually a little frightening, regardless of the fact that there was no danger. Something about putting my head all the way inside of it still seemed very very daring to me. Yet in this picture, I'm smiling as if there are no cares in the world.

This is the Musee D'Orsay, the only art museum I visited. (The Louvre was too overwhelming, too long a line, and the day I was close to it I was not feeling up for it.) The Musee D'Orsay is an old rail station, converted to the museum. Fabulous paintings, including many of the most famous we've all seen - Monet, Renoir, Van Gogh, Cezzane, all represented, and much more.
This was the best ice cream cone I ever had, as well as the most beautiful. One day we went to Versailles, then took the train all the way back to visit Notre Dame Cathedral. It was closed, but the sun was setting on the Cathedral in the most beautiful way (below).

We walked through the Ile de Cite over to Ile de St Louis. I loved this little part of Paris, in the middle of the Seine River. Tiny roads, apartments, restaurants, and many places for ice cream.

Above: I finished the last of my ice cream cone on this bridge, overlooking the Seine and the rear of Notre Dame. The exposure stinks, but I like the photo anyway.

Velos!!

You can see now how bad the exposure really was, because I took this picture just a few minutes later. We decided to burn off the ice cream by checking out bikes and cycling all the way back to the apartment. It took about half an hour, and I loved every moment of it. Even the part when we cycled straight up a hill only to find that it was a dead end. So we had to coast down (fine) then cycle up the next block over (huff and puff). That street brought us up to the Opera House, down past the Jardins de Luxembourg, and through a few neighborhoods. Exhilarating, but not as dangerous as you would think, because the French are very used to cyclists. As you saw above, there are stands of bikes for use all over the city. Thousands and thousands of bikes! With the pass I had, all I needed to do is swipe my pass (also provided by host), choose a bike, and redock it within a half hour. If I wasn't at my destination, I just checked out a new bike to keep going. Easy and wonderful.

But, not infallible, I soon discovered...

On my last day, I had a small issue with the bike. Everything had been going so very well on this last day. I had taken the subway to Montmartre for the morning, then took it back to the Musee D'Orsay. Via map and some vague idea of the ride home several nights earlier, I took a bike out at the Musee D'Orsay and cycled to the Jardin de Luxembourg, where I planned to relax with a book.

I found a bike stand, put the bike away.

Jardin de Luxembourg

toy boats

Beautiful flowers-better photos do more justice, but you get the gist.

I enjoyed walking the gardens, read some of my book. But, when I grew restless, I returned to the bike stand to check a new bike out, and there an error with my card. The French I deciphered indicated that the system could not acknowledge that I had returned the bike before. I knew that there was a charge for about $150 for not returning a bike. My eyes scanned the bike rack, and I saw the very bike I had returned, easily identifiable because one handlebar was missing its foam. I noticed for the first time that the little red light where the bike was docked. The light should have been green. I panicked. Did I dock it incorrectly? I could have sworn I did it right. I stood at the kiosk for several minutes, completely puzzled and panicked. Certain that Cary was going to be charged for the bike, I felt terrible. I was angry with myself for being so careless. I knew that I'd give him the money for it and not take "no" for an answer. I had spent no money on souvenirs, clothes, shoes, or anything, and now I was going to spend all that on a human error. But more immediately, I had not planned an alternate route home. I didn't know where the nearest bus or rail station was. I was tired, wanted to enjoy my last afternoon and evening there, and suddenly (dramatically, in retrospect) that this moment of failure had wiped out all the progress I had made as an independent tourist. My heart sunk for both of these reasons and I just started walking. I found a subway line that would get me close to the apartment and took it, dejected. Too tired to stop for wine or goodies, I went straight home. Now I just had to deal with how to tell Cary that I had messed up. I imagine this is what it must feel like when a wife confesses a grocery store parking lot fender bender to her husband. I opened a beer and waited. He came in a half hour later, armed with champagne for the last evening of Paris. I said that my day was "pretty good." After he had finished a beer for himself, I confessed, "I had a little problem with the bike today...." I explained everything. He is a much more calm and rational person than I am. So, not immediately but eventually, we walked a half block to the nearest bike kiosk so that he could read what the issue was. I was comforted that even he was perplexed. He called the help line, was on hold while we walked back to the apartment, and had a person on the line by the time we were home. I sat, biting my lip, listening to the conversation that began in French and quickly continued in English. He hung up and informed me that it wasn't my fault. I can still remember him saying that after he gave the customer service rep the account number, the guy said, "I see you had a problem at the Luxembourg station." It turned out that the problem was with that location, and not with my bike or anything I had done. Redeemed, relieved almost to tears, I was able to fully enjoy my last night in Paris.

Stay tuned for Paris: Installment 2. Maybe I'll finish it tonight. But, I've been writing here too long and have other things I need to do with this afternoon. Au revoir

Disclaimer/Clarification

If you read the below entry, please know that it is the actual antique fair that I seem to not have the affinity for. I enjoyed the company and a few tents. One day I might be able to spend hours on end. I can see why people go and have such luck and fun there. Mom found a great mirror, Ellen found a trowel door-knocker that I actually would have also bought for myself if I had my own home. And it was certainly NOT due to lack of good company that I ended up wandering Round Lake Village instead of sticking it out in the tents.

The other side of "antiquing"

I came to New York vowing to be good-natured and up for anything.  On Saturday, that meant I would be going to the first Antique Fair I have ever attended on my own volition.  The Round Lake Antique Fair took place a couple miles away over the weekend.   We left in Auntie Ellen's car, parked, and began our tour of the antique fair.  It was interesting at first.  Then I saw some really strange things that I did not think belonged at ALL at an antique fair.   For example:

Yeahhh....

There was an awful lot of vintage jewelry around.  Some of it was awful costume jewelry, some of it was great.  Various applique type things were also on the tables.  I pondered to myself, "now who on earth would wear all of these things?"

And there she was.  I found the one woman on earth who does wear all these things--and wears them all at the same time:

Odd.  Hmmm.    If I had cash, I would have bought two things.  I did see a lovely necklace for $8, and also an antique collection of prayer books, including the New Testament and Catholic prayers for just $10:

In an effort to cut back on my impulse purchases, I didn't bring a single dollar with me, and it's probably for the best.  lasted through one long row of tents before we then crossed the road and I saw that we were headed for a line of tents nearly three times the length.  Within a few minutes I knew I was done.  I parted from Mom and Ellen and decided to walk the opposite direction of the antique fair, out of the crowds and into the village towards the lake.

Round Lake Village is like one big neighborhood of old, beautiful (for the most part) Victorian homes, their yards and white picket fences rambling into one another, street by crooked street.  It is the type of lakeside village that I imagine was particularly alive earlier in the twentieth century.  For the most part, the residents have kept up their homes and gardens beautifully.  The reason i don't have pictures to share is because every time I passed a lovely home, with perennial gardens and wrap-around porches, inevitably, there would always be someone reading a book on the porch.  They all smiled and said hello, and I privately wished they would invite me up for some lemonade.  It was hot and very humid.  I walked an entire loop, found the dynamic duo again and carried their antiques back to the car.  Then I spent about twenty minutes on my reading a book, flat on my back in a park.  A heavy rainstorm cut that, as well as the antique shopping, short.    Saved by the rain...

Adirondack climb . . . a couple photos...blogging to come.

Happy 35th Mom and Dad!

En Route

Last flight out? Yep, that's me...11:59....and counting....

I've traveled a lot within the U.S.  A lot.  Flying is second nature to me.  And so I felt completely out of sorts today when little seemed to go right.  I was dropped off at United, but was supposed to fly out of US Airways.  US Airways only had me going as far as DC instead of Albany.  "Do you have your itinerary?" the ticket agent asked me pointedly.  Ummm.  (No!)  Disapprovingly, she did a manual search on the computer to find my connection to Albany to get my bag all the way there.  "This is why you should bring your itinerary."  I nodded, agreed out loud and shook my head, feigning great shame.  The truth is, in the last dozen at least times I have flown, I stopped bothering to bring anything with me but ID and the credit card I bought the ticket with (unless it is work travel and I didn't book my own flight).  All the paper had become superfluous.  She treated me as if I'd never boarded a flight before.  Bah!  Time will tell if my bag really gets there.  Once I arrived here in Denver, I had to get new boarding passes to use here and in Albany.  

For all the flight experience, however, this is my first overnight flight.  (Already I'm regretting that I left my contacts in.)  I bypassed the restaurant-bar in Phoenix, assuming I'd treat myself something to eat and at least one glass of wine in Denver, easing myself into a physical state of food and enough wine that I will settle into 22C and fall quite pleasantly into a deep sleep along with (but high above) the rest of America. 

I was wrong.

After landing, I freshened up in the bathroom...after all, every twenty-something knows he or she will meet the one in the airport, right.  (Right.)  Nearly crumbling under the weight of my backpack, I pulled my carry-on into the Colorado Sports Bar.  There was only one open seat at the bar.  The Rockies had just won a big game (Joy for the temporary home team!).....against the Pittsburgh Pirates (Nooooooooooooo!!!!! Why are they so bad!?).  

I sat on the lone chair, and the waft of dirty back bar hit me.  It is unbelievable how disgusting this smell is, and that people (self-included) are willing to inhale this while attempting to enjoy a meal or beverage.  Memories of working for Sam Adams floated in and out of my head.After glancing at the menu and, I ordered a Fat Tire (traitor).  "You don't have to give me the finger, jeeez!" says the bartender whose name I never asked.  I had absently been scratching my nose with the wrong finger as I perused the menu.  

The kitchen was closed, but he brought me a cold, prepared salad.  The grilled chicken was in the form of three small strips (about a third of a chicken breast), as cold and hard as the rest.  The bill came to $15.67, before tip.  I guess I should have just waited to get my $7 flight beverage.  I'd have been equally (dis)satisfied but $11.67 richer (with tip...I'm nice).  Every time I stop at a restaurant on a layover, I sorely miss the Boston Beer Company corporate AmEx.  (For a year of my life, I did not pay my for cell phone, internet, food out, alcohol, or 80% of my gas. I really only ever long for that job in fiscal terms.)  

I was about two bites in to my mediocre cold salad when Last Call was announced.  Really?  Blessing in disguise...I didn't need to up the bill much more, but would have done so gladly if the bar had remained open.  At that point I didn't know I could entertain myself with wireless internet.

My flight is the last to leave Denver tonight; 11:59 PM.  I've typed my way up to 11:16...11:17.

Oh, before I go.  I've been distracted, a little bit of a minor basketcase in the days and hours leading up to my departure, experiencing unusual anxiety, ennui, frustration, restlessness.  I mean, beyond the higher than normal levels of all such things I'm prone to.   Late this afternoon I decided to toss two last items of clothing into the bag I was checking.  Because it was zipped, I opted to shove them into the top compartment.  I unzipped it, and could hardly believe my eyes.  Tucked in to the corner was a little pink and yellow pouch with a snap button.  My heart skipped a beat.  Could it be?  I grabbed it out and with great joy, felt the weight that told me what was inside.   It was my long lost rosary!!!  Somewhere in the last few years, it had gone missing.  The last time I really, really remember having it was before my move to South Bend.  (There was a time in DC when I really took to the rosary.  Praying with it was the only way I would fall asleep, and the only way I had a decent next day.)   For some reason I think it must have resurfaced somewhere in South Bend, because I can almost see it in the brown box by my bed there.  In any case, I had all but given up on seeing this special rosary, in my possession since my First Communion,  ever again.  I had moved on to wooden rosaries that also held special meaning for me: a colorful, wooden rosary I had bought during a craft sale I helped organize for my DC Church, when I served on the Africa committee.  The rosary was made in Kibera (the largest slum in Kenya), and profits went to the organizations we had promised grants to.  The other was a gift brought back from Poland, blessed by JPII at some point, in exchange for cat-sitting two weeks in Mishawaka IN.    Both I loved, but neither were my original.

I took the find as a sign to chill out.  Everything's fine, and it is going to be a wonderful summer.  

And we're boarding....

No coffee today.  I held off and drank electrolyte-enhanced water in preparation to give blood. Was then rejected from giving blood due to low iron.  (That's never happened).  Wondering if I have bags under my eyes or if the light is bad.  Have all but stopped packing before anything actually got into a suitcase.  Want to open wine, but don't want it to go bad when I don't finish it and leave town.   Ate green beans and watermelon for dinner in hopes to leave nothing to go bad in the fridge.  Green tea is not replacing a glass of wine effectively.  Wondering at what point I will ever actually write a single line worth reading.