Roots, Part 1

The sun is shining. Crocuses are gleaming, and daffodils starting to bloom, ushering the most beautiful of seasons in to New York City. Welcome Spring! Not a moment too soon, either, to have a clear bright sky. The unrelenting grey overhead had worn out its welcome in my mind, lost its cloak of romantic northern European melancholia, and was just plain depressing. I felt it just above my head all the time.

I have just returned from a week in England, where the sky was plenty grey, too, but... well, English. English, and moderated by good tea (and good champagne), and the company of good good friends. I have not been abroad since 1990. I was always hoping to go back to a series of dates, a concert tour that never - or hasn't yet - come together. In January, I saw a cheap fare, decided not to wait anymore, and bought the ticket. A few days later, I realized that I have never, as an adult, packed a bag and gone somewhere simply because I wanted to be there. Not once. So I immediately made a list of all the things I should accomplish while in London, all the meetings I should organize.

But then I threw the list away. The result was the loveliest trip I have ever had.