I would write that I continue to bask in the glow of my kid's visit last week.
But "bask in the glow" is a cliche, and I've been taught not to do that in print or in thought.
Plus, I don't really glow. I'm old. I'm fat. I pretty much just schvitz.
My return to a full week of work greeted me with a series of problems and crises that were neither, really. Just hurdles I have to over come.
And one of the more daunting hurdles I have left. Renting a truck to drive to Indiana to get my stuff and then jam my new place with all the old stuff I've stored for a couple years. I'm pretty sure George Carlin did a bit on this.
I have promised to myself to do it, not this weekend but next -- no matter what.
I need my cooking equipment and most of my books. As my kid has noted, I don't need -- NEED -- many of my books. For instance, anything by Martin Buber. Poor kid. Any of his thoughts were lost during a particularly harsh high school because of unfortunate nicknames. (For the record, I would have been the president of the Martin Buber Nickname Club. It's what I do.)
I'm going to do it, damnit.
One of the bigger hurdles I've had to jump, frankly.
But I trust my colleagues to get out the newspaper and the various magazines and, at a weekly, get the lawn mowed and the front door painted and so on. Last week, we found a partially eaten dead fawn behind the building. Through fastidious research, I can claim it was not anyone in the building who did this.
My jokes about fawn McNuggets were not appreciated. HR has been alerted.
I will alert friends along the route about potential meetings.
And I will seek out any emotional support you might offer.
As for what I can offer: Some Martin Buber books and a list of jokes.
Peace and Buber unto all of you my brothers and sisters.