Why is it that I am so excited to go on trips; researching coffeeshops, vintage stores, etc. But the day before I leave I already wish I was back home? I know a question mark doesn’t really fit there, but in my head it does.
Actually, the trip was pretty nice. I walked a lot, drank a lot of coffee and saw beautiful sights, like this sailboat on Lake Wasington from the window of our Air B & B
So, this is how I hope mine look in another couple of years.
Yes, lovely sights and ideas for my own nest. We even got to watch glass blowing at Glassy Baby one day before breakfast. Simplicity, beauty and function in a small (yet, for me, exquisitely unaffordable) piece of delicately colored glass. I made myself focus on these fragments of future memory which will be all too fleeting. I also savored the seafood, including scallop bisque and a salmon burger to die for (with a rhubarb margarita chaser – oh yes, we must experiment with that).
And, just like that, it was time to spend a day in airports and wait on runways for thunderstorms to pass so we could arrive home well past midnight and fall into bed, feeling grubby from travel but too tired to care.
And that brings me back to my post title. As I pulled weeds along the north fence this morning, it hit me how good it was to be home. Of course, that being said, I must say that I rarely have a Buddhist monk walk into my kitchen for coffee.