I’m at Casa Papis, having arrived on Wednesday evening. (Thank you, Iberia, for your 16:30 non-stop to Boston. It is the civilized way to go.) Prior to departure there was much madness with moving house, packing for the trip, organizing a single working cell phone (not one to call with and one to receive with, phooey on you Vodafone), dealing with a head cold, and getting renter’s insurance for the new apartment. There were also the good moments of a dear friend doing a sprint to the phone store to get the woman there to call Mr. Pants so he could finalize my new phone’s contract before I left the country. And the lovely surprise of being driven to the airport by a friend’s husband’s chauffeur so I didn’t have to deal with the metro and lugging a big suitcase and a bigger head cold.

Mr. Pants rightly says that when you travel over various time zones, it takes a while for your soul to catch up with your body. I can vouch for my body’s presence, as it’s made Rubi-shaped dents in the feather bed and my favorite arm chair. The soul? I’m still waiting for it to fully appear.

I’ll be back as soon as it does!

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