I hate driving. The only thing that I hate more than driving is flying. Sure, one is active, one is passive (unless you're a pilot, I guess), but both modes of transport are just the worst. Why everyone was looking forward to flying cars in the 80s I'll never know.
I did a lot of driving and a little flying last week. I am exhausted. In homeschooling these past few days I've been especially encouraging of my son in mathematics so that he might work on future advancements in teleportation. I'm ready to be molecularly deconstructed if it means I'll never have to get on a plane or the New Jersey Turnpike again.
In this haze of exhaustion and home-buying that I'm currently mired in, I keep forgetting that we had an amazing time in New York over Thanksgiving. Our first destination after the Newark Liberty Airport was
 |
| Did I forget to mention the snow? There was snow. |
It was unbelievably picturesque and eerily quiet and just sublime...
 |
| Holy crap, right?! |
Which is saying a lot considering that WE DIDN'T EVEN MAKE IT TO THE LIGHTHOUSE!! Either the tide or recent precipitation or both had flooded the trail just before we could reach it.
 |
| But it's just there, in the upper right corner! |
There's a metaphor here about some mysterious obscured beacon guiding us toward our new home, but I can't quite find the words. I'm having a hard time thinking of anything besides the possibility that I might be spending more than I'd like on this gorgeous property with a barn and a pool house and fallow land on which I'd like to establish a little biodynamic farm run by a cooperative of ladies that doesn't exist…yet. Am I crazy? I feel like I might be crazy. Does anyone want to rent a pool house?
No comments:
Post a Comment