I rarely sleep past sunrise–I’m just made that way. But after a long flight back from Philadelphia–I hit Cleveland and Phoenix before finally landing in Spokane well after 10 pm–I was zapped. Crowds. The inevitable delays. Not to mention airport security. The dogs and I had our usual welcome home party–Sadie rushed around with her beagle ears tucked in a this-happiness-is-just-too-much-to-contain way, and Bernice was about to turn inside out. Soon, we were all crashed.
I woke to daylight and a a beautiful sight, which I’m still enjoying as I write this, because my chair looks out over that draw filled with pine trees. A lovely snow had fallen in the night, and the world seems blanketed in white. The pine branches are wearing lace, like tall and sturdy spinsters crowding the doorway of a dance hall.
It’s wonderful to be home, though I had a marvelous, productive meeting in Philadelphia with my agent, Irene Goodman, Nancy Berland, my personal publicist, and Leslee Borger, who is retained by my publisher. We didn’t have much time, but we took in Independence Hall and saw the Liberty Bell, and dined at a marvelous place called City Tavern. I had an ale, purported to be one of Thomas Jefferson’s favorite drinks, and the weather was so nice that we sat outside, on the veranda, dahling.
I could write several blogs on what it meant to me to be in the very place where the Declaration of Independence was drafted and signed, where one of the greatest experiments in the history of humanity actually began.
Alas, I need coffee, and the dogs need to go outside.
Real life. You gotta love it.
