Home for the Holiday

Pooh is a well-traveled teddy.

 

By some miracle, I packed all my belongings, dragged all 3 bags down the 65 hostel stairs, from Bayswater Station (thank you kind strangers who helped me up the Tube stairs!) to Victoria Rail Station, onto a second National Express Coach because I missed the first one, and to the correct terminal in Heathrow. My plane from Heathrow arrived half an hour late to Heuston because of weather, and my connecting flight was cancelled. I caught the 19:15 as a standby.

Needless to say, I fell asleep in the car on the way back to Tahlequah.

Emptying out my wallet.

I already miss the UK and Ireland–the people, the sounds, the tea and kettles, the bug-less-ness, the eye-bogglingly gorgeous scenery, the fresh markets, the good shopping, the public transport. It's strange being back.

 

My brain knows I'm here for a reason. It also knows how pleased I am to be with my fam again, to see my friends, to be welcomed home by my church family. I was back in time to celebrate the Fourth of July, and I'm here for Ken's birthday.

 

My heart will catch up to my head (pardon the melodrama). I will stop whinging (great British word). I will be thankful for the good life I have here and for my six-month dream.

And if it's part of the Grand Scheme, I will go back!

 

 

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