Home, where my fox is sleeping*

Aaaahhhh....home at last.
The trip was fascinating, fabulous, overwhelming, exasperating, exhausting, amazing, etc... as such trips are wont to be.

Before I did much travelling myself, I imagined going abroad to be akin to entering some sort of dreamscape, where everything glowed in a soft haze of marvelousness, and I'd float around with my feet never quite touching the ground. Imagine my shock when I found out that, amid the marvelousness, it also entailed the occasional evening of going from one hotel to another in a desperate quest to find a bed, arms waving around because I only know 12 words of the local language, all the while wearing some ridiculous outfit comprised of the only cleanish clothes available. Anyway, sorry for the long absence, we're alive and well - things just got a little too hectic for blogging.

Lots of fun was had with lots of food eaten, wine drunk, miles covered and art seen. I have many tales to tell and also many pictures, but in order to get the blog rolling I'll just offer up this one of me in Parma. I'm the least photogenic person ever, so I'm afraid this is the most flattering one taken on the whole trip. It doesn't help that I expanded as the trip went on (seriously - I outgrew one of my skirts). Oh well - it was totally worth it, even though it's a little painful re-adjusting to life without pastries and butter slathered on everything in order to fit into my old clothes.

More pictures will be coming soon!


*I love to speak in song lyrics. I'm also prone to getting the lyrics wrong. My childhood love of Simon and Garfunkel led to many a mondegreen that amuse me even to this day (songs about "silence like a casserole" and "camembert shirt"s never grow old). In my wee-est years I thought the lyric referenced in this post's title (from the song Homeward Bound) referred to Paul's pet fox that I envisioned curled up by the hearth. When I got older and realized that it was unlikely that he kept a pet fox in his New York apartment, I concluded that the "fox" was actually late-sixties terminology for his lady-friend (also envisioned sleeping by the hearth).
I have neither pet fox nor foxy lady at home, but I do have a case of jet-lag-induced silliness.