It's a little culture shock, actually. When I got up this morning, the sun had just cleared the horizon. Here. Here's what it looked like:
It's funny, as beautiful as the water and the sky are at St. George, they do not have the profound effect on me of smoothing out my neurons the way the water and sky do in Cozumel. Now why is that? I have no idea but you'll have to trust me that it's true. I can sit and watch the sky and water on St. George (or Dog Island, for that matter) for hours and days and I feel refreshed and I feel happy to be there but I don't have that absolutely authentic experience of feeling something shift inside of me.
Which is not to say that being at St. George for a week wasn't completely wonderful because it was.
It truly was. And when we left the island today I was in a very good mood and still am, to tell you the truth, and the high point of the drive back for me was when I went through Carabelle and there were a bunch of people out holding Romney/Ryan signs on the side of the road and yelling and waving and I rolled down my window and screamed out, "NO!" as loudly as I could and they are probably still shaking their heads. Or maybe not. Whatever. It felt good.
And it feels good to be home. I texted Mr. Moon when I pulled in (he's at the hunting camp in Georgia) and wrote, "I'm home. The dogs are still alive. Damn."
And yes they are and Jessie and I spent our first moments here cleaning up pee and poop in the hallway, me cursing, her being more pragmatic about it. But you know.
It is so peaceful here and green. I've unloaded everything and put things away and Jessie's already gone to town to hang out with Lily and the boys and Mr. Moon left me a bunch of greens and lettuces to plant in the garden which he tilled before he left and I have plenty to do and the chickens are scratching in the yard and when I saw Elvis and talked to him he flapped his wings for me and I like to think he was saying, "Welcome home, Mama!" and I talked to Trixie and Flopsy too. I think I'd like to make a loaf of bread for the neighbors who fed the dogs while we were gone and shut up the chickens at night and let them out in the morning.
Speaking of food.
Oh my god.
I've eaten more cheese in the last week than I've probably eaten in a YEAR! We ended up getting pizza again last night. I swear. We were so bad.
I need to start eating all healthy and shit again. I wonder if I remember how. Food is like a drug, you know. It really is. And the more processed it is, the more drug-like it is. That's just a fact. And cheese was not the only sin-food I ate. I ate fried flounder and cookies and nachos with corn chips (and cheese!) twice. And probably a lot of other stuff I am blocking and we ended up this morning eating at El Jalisco in Eastpoint which is the coolest restaurant. American Breakfast, Mexican Lunch and Dinner.
Bacon was involved. You knew it would be, right?
Oh well. I walked every day but one and, uh, got lots of sleep.
So there you go. It was vacation. And now I'm home and in my case, home is a ridiculously beautiful place and I am the luckiest woman on earth and I had a week where I could get my hands on my babies, one after the other, any time I wanted, just reach out and hug one to me which was the most extravagant richness of all.
But this ain't bad.
No. This ain't bad at all.