California: good times. That's all I have to say about that-- except that as I was driving up and down highway 80 between Auburn and Alameda, I realized that road is in my bones. It's a part of who I am as much as the curse of the Caspers' fingers or my mom's girlish voice.
I was very nervous, as I may have mentioned, about the return to the freezing temperatures. R knew this though, and, I think, prepared for it. While I was away, he built these book cases as a belated Valentine gift. He knows how to woo a woman. He's going to put some green molding around the edges that I don't quite understand, but if he says it will be lovely, I believe him.
I spent yesterday evening unboxing my old friends and reminiscing about our adventures together-- that is until Buckaroo awoke from his bedtime slumber and decided to throw a party. He's still on California time. We're working on it.
I'm not feeling the post-California melancholy that I thought I would. Maybe because it snowed afresh, and everything is sprinkled white again. Maybe it's because of our new Putumayo Sesame Street Around the World CD. Also, R says that even if he loses his job we won't be homeless or carless, and that's a good thing. So I said, "Does this mean we can take a vacation?" He harumphed at me. I guess I did just return from The Land of Sunshine.
Today, though, he said he'd like to take a ride out to Portsmouth NH this weekend and see what's what. I'm cracking through his armadillo hide.