Quocunque jeceris stabit

Since last we spoke I have been some places and seen some shit, man, and by "shit" I mean horse plops. You are so excited to read this update now.

P and I flew out of Austin at the tail end of Harvey, leaving our adult children here with the wind and the rain and the panic-induced gas shortage (there are a few things I've done as a parent for which I may never completely forgive myself and I've tucked this trip away into a tiny little corner of that space). We were in Dublin for five days and the only touristy thing I did that I'd done before was Trinity College and the long room in the old library because come on, if I'm in Dublin I'm going there, you can bet money on that. I am going to sit in that room for an entire hour, and during that hour there may come a point at which you wonder if I am okay, and the truth is that I'm SO VERY OK that I appear not at all okay, and it's fine. Just leave me to it. I'm inhaling the aroma and soaking in the filtered light and trying to pretend I'm alone in there, just me and the books and the busts and that incredible ceiling.

Apart from also visiting the National Museum of Archaeology (which is FANTASTIC) and getting lost in Temple Bar (WHO DESIGNED THESE STREETS?) I mostly stayed south of the canal this trip, stomping around Rathmines and Ballsbridge and Ranelagh, visiting little shops and parks and gardens and admiring the gorgeous ironwork fences and the view of the Wicklow Mountains and the chimneys of Upper Leeson from our hotel room window.

Just like last year, we were in Dublin this time for an industry conference that P attends (he was presenting this year), and we learned this trip that next year the conference will move to Dusseldorf, and I am sad because that likely means this was our last trip to Dublin for a very long while, and I LIKE DUBLIN. I like all of Ireland, actually. I understand Ireland, nothing there feels strange to me. If I have a home away from the US, Ireland is it. South Dublin is it. I will miss it so much.

After Dublin we hopped a little propeller plane for the Isle of Man and OH YOU GUYS. If you ever get the chance to visit the Isle of Man. DO IT. Do not hesitate, not even for a second. It's 30 minutes by air from Dublin or Manchester. It is by far the most beautiful place I've ever been, ever ever ever, with by far the nicest people I've ever met in my entire life. We stayed right on the Central Promenade in Douglas and only saw a fraction of the island, from Port Erin up the southeast coast and then north to Laxey and Snaefell, but holy criminy was it amazing and gorgeous and just ... wow. Just wow. Go there. You will not regret it.

The weather was gorgeous our first day on the island but the second day there, which was at the halfway point of our entire trip, it turned wet and grey and chilly and windy and I kind of hit a wall that day from which I never recovered. I have about seven days in me, vacation-wise. Ten if sun and sand and slushy drinks are involved. But this was a fifteen-day trip, you guys. That is too long for me. I am a delicate fucking flower; I can't go that long without my food and my kids and my bed and my Texas weather.

After three days of Manx shenanigans we headed to England, specifically to Cheshire, more specifically to a little town called Lymm that lies on the Bridgewater Canal between Manchester and Liverpool. We were there for a week and the weather stayed awful and my mood stayed awful but holy shit was it gorgeous there. We were there specifically to do some genealogical research on P's side but I did not expect to fall in love with this little town, with its footpaths and deep dark woods and gorgeous meadows (full of horse plops, but also flowers! and berry bushes! and apple trees! and chestnuts! it was so pretty!).

We were in England for another five days and then we flew home sweet home just as Irma was roaring through Florida. Whatever else happens, I am home now. I have my kids and my dog and my bed and my house and my warm sunshine. It's so good to be home.

But you know what? The UK is fabulous. We didn't have a bad meal the whole time we were there, not one. The people we met were without exception friendly and kind and incredibly patient with us, even the old sexist, racist anti-Semites (that was all one guy; his name was George). Everywhere we went was gorgeous. EVERYWHERE. So green, so many trees and flowers, so many dog owners, such beautiful waterways. Dublin is super fucking expensive but the Isle of Man and Cheshire are dirt cheap in comparison re: meals and lodging and transportation. They have Strongbow Dark Fruit cider on tap everywhere, which we can't even GET here in the US, so unfair.

It was an amazing trip and I'm glad it's over and yeah. Let's do fall now. I'm super ready for fall.

A conversation with my parents yesterday afternoon

Dad: Has your mom committed random acts of decoration on you yet?
Me: Um, do what now?
Dad: You know how people decorate trees on the roadside this time of year?
Me: Yes.
Dad: Well, your Mom does that with other people's houses.
Me (to Mom): You what?
Mom: I have too much stuff, so I've been taking little things from our house and leaving them at other people's houses. Kind of blending them in with the decor.
Me: ...?
Mom: Just little things. Like refrigerator magnets.
Me: You bring magnets to people's houses and put them on their refrigerators?
Mom: Yeah.
Me: I have OCD. Don't do that to me. I'll either notice right away or it'll drive me insane.
Mom: I stuck one to Lucy's* fridge weeks ago and she still hasn't noticed. I might have to start doing it with bigger things.
Me: Wait, hang on. You actually bring stuff from your house to other people's houses and just leave it there without them knowing?
Mom: Yes. And then I take something!

* Names have been changed to protect the victims. If you're a friend of my mom's and you're thinking Lucy might be you, you're probably right. Check your fridge. And maybe your valuables, although I'm like 98% sure she was kidding about that last bit.

Stone-cold sober, as a matter of fact

August is flying by, you guys. One of my favorite things about summer, which is brutal here in central Texas, is that we finally get direct sunlight through our north-facing back windows in the mornings and evenings. I swear within the past five days or so we've gone from giant, soul-restoring swaths of brilliant sun to two skinny, faded columns of watery light on the wall behind our bed. Those seasons just keep on changing, eh?

I'm trying to hang on to the last days of summer by eating my bodyweight in fresh seafood and drinking gallons of fruity mocktails and ... mostly staying indoors, truth be told. Wake me when it's no longer 80 degrees at 7:30 a.m., won't you?

I went to my 30-year high school reunion this weekend and it was SO FUN. I drank nothing but water all night and still had a wicked hangover the next morning -- THAT'S how fun it was. (That was totally from the fun and not from being almost 50 years old and staying out way past my bedtime. Yes it was. Shut up.)

Observations:

• I was charmed by the number of my former classmates who had married their high school sweethearts while simultaneously feeling SO VERY relieved that I did not do that. Given that my high-school sweethearts consisted of a(n alleged) drug dealer, a(n eventual) stalker and a (I did not know this at the time, I swear) married man ... yeah. Dodged a whole clip full there, didn't I?
• Also very relieved that I had the foresight in high school not to date anyone from my graduating class. Way to go, me. That would have made the whole reunion thing a lot more awkward.
• All the women looked exactly the same as they did in high school, except for the ones who looked even better. I wonder if science ever will explain that.
• It's amazing what can change in 10 years, as I'm fairly certain that at our 20-year reunion in 2004 there was no Facebook and texting was not a thing. Or at least, these things did not exist FOR ME. But now they do, which makes it SO MUCH EASIER to keep in touch with old friends. Which is very cool. And I feel old for even talking about this.
• This was the first of our three-so-far reunions that I attended 100% sober and the one at which I had the most fun. That sounds like such a recovering alcoholic thing to say, and I don't even consider myself to be a recovering alcoholic, but there you go.

Anyhoo, YES. I am very glad I went. I did end up wearing a dress and flip-flops, just for the record. And I'm not sorry.

Now that the last summery thing on my calendar has come and gone, it's back to the usual August pre-schoolyear craziness. H's supplies and clothes are bought. She has cut and dyed her hair. I've entered all the school holidays into our family calendar. I'll be enrolling in an online nutrition institute for health coaching certification within the week, Deo volente. If a food can't be grilled, cooked in the crock pot or made into a cold salad, we're not having it for dinner. And my Kindle is all loaded up with meaty tomes to get me through autumn and the beginning of winter.

Let's do this, you guys.

Ain't no cure

H and I spent two glorious days in Corpus Christi last week and all I have to show for it are sunburned feet. And a big bag of shells. And a shirt; I did get a pretty awesome shirt while we were there. And a bit of a tan on the parts that aren't sunburned. But THAT'S ALL I HAVE NOW.

It was a very fun trip. H and I travel well together. We should do it again, like, next week. And every week thereafter. Yep.

But no, we can't, because it's almost time for back-to-school and I am really busy watching television, you guys. Rectify is back on and I love it but I'm kind of hoping Amantha gets killed off sometime real soon now because she's ALMOST ruining the show for me, I hates her so much. The Bridge is back too and I love that one and everything about it is perfect and my GIANT crush on Ted Levine continues unabated. (I. Love. Him. SOMUCH.) Falling Skies is back but it's terrible now (except for Pope -- I heart Pope), so boo. Face Off is back too but I haven't watched last night's season premier yet, so shhh on that for now. The Strain is stupid but I can't stop watching it, and I'd like to take this opportunity to implore Hollywood to stop putting terrible wigs on hot bald guys, because some of us like them JUST FINE the way they are, thankyouverymuch. And finally, Drunk History is rocking my world right now. Up, down and all around. LOVE it!

And also I've been reading stuff! I know! Look at me, with the culture and shit! I can't remember what I was reading when last we spoke about reading but I'm still loving Karin Fossum's Inspector Sejer books and Kate Atkinson's Jackson Brodie books. I read The Silkworm, the second Cormoran Strike book by Robert Galbraith, who as you probably know is actually J.K. Rowling, and I loved it so much that I didn't want it to end. I bought a paperback copy of Tom Rachman's The Imperfectionists to read at the beach, and I didn't read ANY of it at the actual beach, but now that I've finished it my feelings are mixed. I liked it while I was reading it, but ultimately it was pretty depressing. Now I'm re-reading The Last Policeman by Ben H. Winters, which is SUPER fantastic and highly recommended, because the third book in that series is just out and I hadn't even read the second one yet. So many books, y'all. So little time.

Aside from all the back-to-school stuff with H, my 30-year high school reunion is the next thing up for which I must gear. The tricksy organizers have totally thrown me off by declaring the event casual dress, like what does that even mean? What is casual?! WHAT ARE WORDS FOR WHEN NO ONE LISTENS ANYMORE??!! In Austin, "casual" could mean anything from that bikini up there to "you can totally wear cowboy boots and a bolo with that tux, bro," so I am stymied. Except I'm pretty sure I'm not wearing that bikini. Maybe a DIFFERENT bikini? Maybe a cocktail dress with flip-flops? Is that casual? Bermuda shorts with a ripped concert tee and heels? Cutoffs and pearls? Are the pearls too much? WHY IS THIS SO HARD?

Anyway, yeah. That's what's going on around here. And how has YOUR summer (or winter) been?

A little holiday

P and I had a little getaway this weekend, a wander around the Texas hill country to celebrate our 20th wedding anniversary. We stayed at a bed and breakfast nestled into an old pecan grove, perched above a cypress-lined creek and across from a meadow full of deer and wild lantana. My mom, who recommended this particular B&B, calls it her happy place. And now that I've been there, I can see why.

We rested and relaxed, we ate wonderful food, we hit up Oktoberfest and a few local wineries (there are like 30 wineries in the hill country, no lie), we bought t-shirts, and the bed part of the bed and breakfast magically fixed the literal pain in my neck I'd had for the entire week before we left.

It was a wonderful, wonderful little break. And it's good to be home, too. And it's been in the 40s and 50s in the mornings ever since we got back. And that's alright with me.