The Everywhereist

Street sign, fully heeded.

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I’ve been to London a good number of times. We usually go at least once a year, sometimes twice, and the total number of trips Rand and I have taken there are numbering close to a dozen. I’m started convincing myself that I’ve seen all the city has to offer. I’ve been to tons of its museums – mainstays like the British Museum and more obscure ones like the Old Operating Theater and herb garret and the London Transport Museum. I’ve visited the Globe, and the Tate Modern, and the Tower of London; I’ve spent way, waaaay too much time shopping in Covent Garden and wandering around Borough Market.

I figured I’d seen London. Been there. Done that. Eaten those. Right?

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I’m having trouble getting my thoughts in order this week. I’m once again hit with the obvious realization that I can’t be everywhere at once – certainly not literally, and not even on this blog of mine.

We got back from Sydney less than 24 hours ago (and we left for Australia less than a week after we got back from London). I would very much like to tell you about that trip, but even in the short time since I’ve returned, a lot has happened. I’ve found myself thinking about the people in my life, and how I never feel like I give them the attention they deserve.

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As hard as it was to leave the resort, Rand made it bearable by planning a few more days in Cape Town before we had to go home (you guys, he’s SO smart. There are days when I think I should marry him twice. Is that a thing? Because it should be).

We stayed near the water in Mouille Point, and waking up every morning to this view helped take the edge off of not being in Bushman’s Kloof:

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Leaving the Kloof was hard. I’m not even going to pretend otherwise. It was blissful and beautiful and it pulled at my heartstrings a little to leave. Driving away, it felt like it was the last day of camp, or the morning after a really great slumber party (you know, the ones where no one breaks down crying and the first person to fall asleep doesn’t have peanut butter smeared on her toes by the other guests).

We’d had a lovely time, and we were happy about that, but damn it, it was hard to see it end. It was tough to say goodbye.

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Street crossing in Downtown Milwaukee.

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The main drawback of communicating mostly through sarcasm (if, indeed, there is any) is this: on the rare occasion when you are sincere, people don’t believe you. They think you are being a snide jerk, and the more you try to convince them otherwise, the worse it gets.

This happened time and again whenever someone asked me what I thought of Wisconsin (and of Milwaukee and Green Bay and the stretch of highway in between).

I answered them honestly. I loved it.

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Sometimes, I take for granted how much my husband puts up with.

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Indeed, that might be the understatement of the year. If my beloved is reading this, he’s probably done a spit take all over his computer while sputtering, “YOU THINK?”

My poor, maligned love. He puts up with a lot. From me. And during the holidays, from his in-laws, too. Which I argue is his fault.

I mean, I was born into them. I had no choice. He walked right into this situation, mostly sober. THE FOOL.

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From our eventful and nail-biting last road trip, in Ireland.

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Rand and I are currently in Boston; in a few days, we’ll be driving up to New Hampshire for a conference; a few of his colleagues will be making journey with us.

That’s right: we’re going on a road trip. WITH PEOPLE WE LIKE AND CONSIDER FRIENDS.

Oh, dear.

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It seems somewhat politically insensitive (or perhaps merely uninformed) to lump all my photos from our Ireland trip together, especially in light of last Monday’s post. I wondered if I should split them up into two posts - 10 photos from our trip to Northern Ireland, and 10 photos from our trip to the Republic.

But there is no border between the two places; we drove seamlessly from Northern Ireland to the Republic, and back again. The countryside remained lovely, the people continued to be friendly, and glasses of Guinness flowed freely on either side.

And so, because our similiarities in this world should always triumph over our differences, I’ve mashed all my photos together in one post. (Also, I was feeling kind of lazy.)

1. Most covered lattice, Castle Leslie Estate, Republic of Ireland.
   

   You lichen? GET IT? LICHEN? HA.

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2. Caution: Horses sign, Castle Leslie Estate.
   

   I wanted to add little fangs to the silhouette and change it to say “Caution: VAMPIRE HORSES” but Rand mentioned some nonsense about defacing property or something, so I didn’t.

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