I'm getting back into the swing of being home after a week on the road. Last week's trip was incredible on so many levels -- a fantastic reporting adventure, a chance to eat hogfish, and paddle through mangroves, and hang out with salty sea captains. This week it was back to reality, which included chasing after an escaped parking lot who bounded out of the Volvo in the carpool lane ("Gatsbyyyyy!"); powering through a 48-hour migraine, meetings, and everything but driving down US1.
It may sound funny, but I really felt like myself on the trip, down to the core of a me without a cell phone, without distractions. With a notebook and a full tank of gas. I'm still processing all of that, which I'll write about later.
For now, a very good part about being home. Driving Nate to school each morning. Listening and talking about music with him (including yesterday, which marked the first time he told me about a band -- called "Casper Babypants").
Today I sprung him from after school care early and we chased after an ice cream truck we heard across our neighborhood. So there's reality, and there are ice cream trucks. Happiness is where the two meet.