"So you don’t have much time to blog anymore," my father said to me earlier.
I went back to work today.
It rained heavily on the bike ride home. I showered and got in bed and haven’t left. I supervised Mike’s first pizza from my bed, which is only sort of near the kitchen. Mike just left to pick up sandwiches from Cemitas.
I’m coming for you, Thanksgiving Waffle.
If you’ve been looking for actual or visual updates of our trip and not just early morning rambling (update: we’re getting money back and the cat is gone tonight) they’re on instagram. Same name, more cat pictures. But also more other pictures, too.
I am in Eugene and there are chickens in Emily’s yard. I held one, yesterday afternoon, and we (we not including the chicken) walked to the river and I stepped on some rocks and went down a slide. We all went down the slide.
Traveling makes me bleary, off-centered, failing to finish my sentences even more often that usual. We have been to so many places and gawked at so many mountains and eaten all these breakfasts that blend together.
I do the same things where ever I go: gossip, buy too many books, want to know more about the place that I am, seek out thrift stores, rearrange peoples’ living rooms in the space before I fall asleep.
It has been so good to see old friends but so strange to see the physical and what ever else spaces between points A and B distance-wise and time-wise. In both directions? There are all these facts of transition and I bought a vintage map of Philadelphia thinking we might move there.
We’re headed to the Redwoods tomorrow and then to San Fransisco and then down the coast. More adventures, these tiny ones inside this huge one. We’ve been listening to CDs in the car and the only ones I have are from 2007.
Sometimes being in a new or different place makes me more articulate and sometimes it makes me less articulate and forgive me because this trip has for sure been the latter.
Creatures seen in Seattle include so many fluffy cats, lots of dogs, and a brief mountain beaver sighting.