Places Like Home: There Aren't Any

Certain phrases are clearly never going to leave my vocabulary. I'm back in 'the states' and it's 'brill' and I'm 'so sorry' I haven't posted to notify my loyal readership of that and subsequently incited their wrath (Hi Texas Simkins! Please don't sic the dogs or Emma on me!). The excessively apologizing for things like being in someone's way or imagining that you might possibly be in someone else's way or otherwise potentially impeding them in any manner has apparently become noticeably ingrained- my mother has commented upon it.

On Saturday I teamed up with Ruthie, who lived in the same building as me and was on my flight, for the fifteen hour odyssey that was lugging gabillions of pounds of luggage down Praed Street to Paddington station, onto the Heathrow Connect train, through the endless corridors of Europe's busiest airport, and finally arriving at our gate several hours early. Which gave us ample time to plan a tea party to be held at an undetermined date celebrating the prince's as-yet unannounced engagement. I will miss British pop culture and celebrity gossip.

The flight went fine and actually landed early, but not before I had time to watch two feature length films, four television episodes, and dissect the frozen vegetables and shady pasta-esque concoction which I was presented with in lieu of lunch.

The Simkin welcome committee practically knocked me over and disrupted the flow of weary travelers attempting to leave international arrivals, then took me to see Bubbe (my grandmother) and my cats (who remain, unsurprisingly but reassuringly, furry and uninterested in my affairs) and then out to a dinner with my aunt and uncle and grandparents during which I practically fell asleep in my Cesar salad to everyone's amusement except mine.

Yesterday I woke up at 5:00 Eastern Standard Time because it was late morning for me with my European internal clock, and to my familys' great chagrin pro ceded to make an omelet and catch up on episodes of Dollhouse I'd missed- quietly, but still at an ungodly hour.

Mom and I went to see Emily in a Jewish theater festival where she was excellent, then I attempted to get my room and life in some semblance of an order before enjoying a homecooked meal and watching Castle episodes with Dad and Skimmer (this blog's namesake of sorts).

I am now confronted with the issue of what to do with Skimbolina. Not the cat, whom I will obviously continue to admire from afar for fear of his razor claws and "playfulness" but this blog, which while perfectly permissible and reasonable to keep as record of my exciting adventures and misadventures from abroad strikes me as somewhat pretentious to keep just to recount my ever so ordinary life in Audubon Pennsylvania. On the other hand, I do enjoy writing it quite a bit and although reader comments are few and far between my mother claims that I've got a substantial readership among her friend and family. I will think about it and get back to you: right now I need tea and more Wii Fit, because I loathe being thirsty and inactive. Cheers!