Re-entry. LONDON to ALBUQUERQUE

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I took this extra day off to deal with re-entry into the real life of Albuquerque and a dusty apartment and a job and the sun. I am trying…or will be right after a nap. Teresa flew on to San Diego early this am and I’m gazing at the shambles of open suitcases, spent water bottles, and accumulated mail.

Teresa and I returned last night from four weeks of perfect travel time—almost equally divided between adventure, family and a great world city. There’s more to say about each—to which I’ve only alluded previously in these Time and Place posts—specifically about the Greenlandic testing of one’s physical stamina against the reality of ageing; the almost existential (to be explained later) importance to me of my Norwegian cousins/family; and last but certainly not least, the awe and excitement and ‘freedom’ one is aware of when visiting one of the world’s relatively few historically and contemporaneously great cities—London. I intend to write thoughtfully and articulately about all of that over the next few days. Perhaps?

But right now…I’m dealing with re-entry like this:

  • Shades are down except for the one window where the sun is partially blocked by my still-thriving bamboo plant. Actually the weather was generally sunny and summery our whole trip but ‘sunny and summery’; has a whole different meaning in Greenland, Denmark, Norway and Copenhagen than it does in New Mexico.
  • Rain gear has been hung in the very back of the closet.
  • I’ve opened the Fortnum and Mason’s “Banana Extra Jam Preserve: Handmade in England with ripe bananas.” Saltines and butter. What a feast…clinging to a last London minute.
  • My daytimer is out, ready for the list-making to come, as I prepare yet again for a perfectly organized, productive and satisfying life…that is always right there to be had…if I just obey the demands of the list.
  • The vacuum, duster, broom and mop are standing at attention in the hallway, awaiting an attack on the dusty floors of a month’s absence.
  • At 5pm, I will attempt to watch Chris Matthews for one hour in order to re-orient myself to U.S. politics. If nausea overwhelms, I’ll just pick up where I left off on The Americans and The Good Wife where the scoundrels are at least good-looking and the murders aren’t always perpetrated on black people.

Cheers…

LAST MORNING ON OUR LONDON TERRACE.

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BACK HOME. TOAD MISSED ME.

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