Back home. Nice to sleep in my own bed. As wonderful as the best host can be, it's always better to be home.
My friend AK writes these wonderful travelogues anytime she goes somewhere. I can't say I have the same gift. (Perhaps she'll write one when she moves to her new fabulous job?) But there were a few moments to ponder.
While waiting by the baggage carousel - between Immigration, which we'd just passed through, and Customs, which we had yet to clear - we had the following conversation:
Daughter one: "Okay, I just heard someone say the word 'purgatory'"
Me: *laugh*
Daughter two: "What's purgatory?"
Me: "It's the place where you wait to go to heaven or hell."
Daughter two: nods in understanding
At one point in a very long security line, I distinctly heard someone whistling the circus tune, you know the one, the calliope speciality... made me giggle.
Pop quiz: What's worse?
A little kid who kicks the back of your seat for the entire flight because they don't know any better?
Or a really tall man who constantly kicks the back of your seat because he can't comfortably fit in coach?
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