Take time to realize.

Travelers: Let's motion for a government-funded reintegration program. We could have support meetings and classes; we could cry together. We could have a sympathetic audience to whine about how things are so different. We could address important questions. (For instance: Miley Cyrus? Really? The creative backbone of our nation? When? How?)

I'll bring the brownies.

BACK IN THE (mostly middle) UNITED STATES:

1. Jet lag is real and lasts for longer than you think. It's weird to have not lived a day that you remember being present for. Because of this pyschological time/space muddle (admitedly, I still don't understand leap year) I've been a little bit John Nash. And not in the way that made me smarter at math...in the imaginary friend way.


2. My dad learned to play the guitar while I was gone. He's helping me slowly back into the music scene; our Partridge Family act practices every night after dinner. With Jil on guitar as well, me on keys and Ma with the syncopated handclaps, we can decently get through "Brown Eyed Girl".
Speaking of Dad and his aspirations; his comic timing (previously limited to: so, a guy walks into a bar, and...) recently became immaculate. So we sit down to watch the Cardinals play the Brewers the other night. We've got beer, warm popcorn. Dad stretches. Belches. Reaches into his shirt pocket and produces a harmonica that I didn't know he possessed. Plays "Take Me Out to the Ballgame" which is only identifiable by the rhythm of his phrasing. Deadpan, he slips the offending metal noisemaker flippantly on the coffee table, returns his gaze to the television. Jil and I: in tears.

3. Jil took me to see Colbie Caillat in Des Moines the other night. The bartender takes one look at my ID and says "'84, huh?". I suppose that was weird amongst the uniquely Iowan mix of 'tweens screaming "Bubbly! Play Bubbly!" after each number and the "Girl's Nite Outing" housewives in silk babydoll blouses and gel-infused spiked haircuts. Oh, Iowa.