A while ago, I wrote a blurb on a scrap sheet of paper. I finally added it to an old picture I had of my grandfather and my cousin.

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There are times when I am reminded of why, despite all my travels, Seattle will always be home to me. I’ll always come back here. I’ll always love it.

It may be true that during our rainy season, a woman could go through her entire gestation cycle and produce a lovely, though Vitamin-D-deficient, child. Or that many of our drivers are suffering from lifelong cases of idiocy. Or that our prices for necessities are so outrageous, Rand and I once paid $7 for a bottle of orange juice (tip: a great way to numb the pain of expensive OJ? Screwdrivers).

But every now and then you will get a sunset like this one, in the middle of January, no less:

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And you wonder how anyone could live anywhere else.

Over the years, I’ve amassed an impressive collection of self-portraits from our travels (and roped my poor, innocent husband into a few shots as well). I take them with one arm extended as far in front of me as my short-limbed genes will allow, and I click a half-dozen times. With any luck, in at least one of those photos, I will appear to have fewer chins than John Goodman (I mean no disrespect to the man who brought characters as timeless as Dan Conner and King Ralph to life. He is a national treasure.)

Though really, more often than not, Rand or I will glance at our shocking un-photogenic mugs and say to the other, “You are the only person on the planet who will ever find me attractive.” (Which is perfectly okay, kids. You only need one near-sighted fool to think you’re pretty.)

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I can, at times, be a little opinionated (I know, I know. Shocking, right?). I’ve found myself at odds with all sorts of people – local politicians, NFL referees, the judges of American Idol - due to our differing viewpoints. I can’t help it. I’m Italian. We’re a passionate bunch.

Recently, a disagreement with someone had my blood pressure spiking in a way I had not felt since last year’s winner of Idol was announced (SCOTTY McCREERY? REALLY? Okay, fine. Whatever). I found myself stuck on the whole situation for literally hours – wondering how someone could see things so differently than I did.

I calmed down though, after reminding myself that our different ways of looking at the world are part of what makes it wonderful place. (Also, I ate a half-dozen M&M sugar cookies. That may have helped).

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It is the first Monday of the new year, and I am sure many of you, like me, are in the throes of a rather nasty vacation hangover. I can picture you, wherever you may find yourself (at the office; in a minivan full of children you don’t really know or like; in central holding as you await bail for a crime that you are fairly certain you didn’t commit), an errant piece of tinsel still in your hair, a few crumbs (remnants of a long-ago eaten holiday treat) grazing your lips. You whisper, “I do not want to be here,” but no one responds. Your current fate is now more tortuous than watching a Nick Cage movie marathon.

Or perhaps you are of one the lucky few who has woken up, bright and early, bursting with energy and excitement about all the new year has to offer. In which case I don’t think we can be friends, because you probably also enjoy tetanus shots, jogging, and eating an apple for dessert.

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It seems like my trip to London happened ages ago, and not just a few weeks back. I was there just before Halloween, and the weather was so blissful and warm that I was walking around in a t-shirt. A t-shirt! Say what you will of global warming (and the ultimate demise of frogs, polar bears, and humans) but at least it’s made fall in Britain downright pleasant.

I spent some time down at the Occupy London protest, and walked along South Bank and across the Millennium Bridge. Don’t worry, though – I still managed to waste that sunshine by spending plenty of time indoors, too, wandering through museums and shopping. Here are some of my favorite snapshots from the trip.

1. One-Eyed Falcon, The British Museum.
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   Wanna know how it happened, kids? I'll tell ya. It was a Red Ryder BB gun, with a compass and this thing that tells time.

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2. Bashful Aphrodite, The British Museum.
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   Oh, please, stop acting so surprised. You obviously posed for this.

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I visited Occupy London on an unseasonably warm and sunny day in late October. In a paradox that is no doubt indicative of who I am, I stopped off at St. Paul’s Cathedral, where the Occupy protesters were gathered, before heading off to Spitalfields (the famed shopping district).
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