Reentry.

First, you go to the store for cereal and bread and juice, because you have none. You eat, which makes you tired enough to lie down again, because you need to. About halfway through the day, you discover that the slightly crappy way you feel seems to be turning into a little cold. The kind of cold that is made out of lousy airport food, not enough sleep, and a crowded last flight that makes you feel like you might have to crawl right out of your skin.

Nonetheless, you can make it 75% of the way through a midday outing to buy more food--how can you have thought about broccoli and apples when you had no cereal and therefore no breakfast? The remaining 25% of the outing is constructed out of sheer gritty, upright character and also the fact that you have to complete your transactions and drive home--otherwise, you will have to wander the aisles of the grocery store forever.

You get home, throw the fresh food into your newly clean refrigerator (thanks sons and son-in-law and friends of son!) and fall back into bed. You complete a deep perusal of the catalogs that arrived while you were gone. You drift.

If you calculate, you may have spent 50% of your waking hours supine and drowsy. And sniffing.

You pull up 0.5% of the morning glory in the flower bed. You note that the weather in Utah is slightly less warm than the weather you left in Scotland. Weird. You talk to almost all the kids, you eat a boca burger at a lowkey family barbecue, you deliver some of the candy you brought back for grandkids. You take note of how many things are blooming in the yard. Roses upon roses upon roses. And...you're back in bed.

(So glad to have gone. So glad to be back.)