After a long train ride from Strasbourg to Paris and an even longer flight from Paris to S an Francisco, after our faithful taxi man Gilberto drove our exhausted selves back into town, and after three loads of laundry and a dinner of what was in the freezer, we are officially home.
It is warmer…70 degrees rather than 30. It is light longer, and the grass and most trees are green. It is, in a word, California. It is the winter I have known all my life. But I can’t help missing the cold and snow….just a little.