I'm going to Ireland Saturday to help with a Making a Difference workshop.
I'll have a great time and learn so much about myself and love the Irish to bits.
And I don't want to go!!!
I'm old enough to tell the truth. I hate to travel.
I love being there, but getting there isn't 'half the fun' for me. I really don't like it.
I am, now I can admit, an unrepentant 'home-body'.
If someone told me I would never sleep another night that wasn't in Cheshire I would shake their hand and thank them!
Getting to and dealing with JFK airport is a nightmare out of the fifth ring of hell for me.
And though I don't mind flying, it does take up a lot of time and put me in discomfort.
I just don't get the mystery and wonder of travel.
Our vacation each year involves getting to a beach in North Carolina and staying there!
I like 'being put' is what it comes down to. Moving around the country and the world has no mystique for me.
95 Cornwall Avenue--now that's mystery and mystique and wonder to me. Right in our house I love so much.
That's what gives me joy.
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- Sometimes I wonder why
- A chip too far
- Red Maple babies
- Since spring is here
- The New Yorker is too ironic this week for even me...
- returning is good....
- sudden Spring
- I'm back....
- Happy Birthday to me!
- The workshop
- Angie Pisano--requiescat in pace
- The third ring of hell
- Gorse and magpies
- See you later
- math and logic and the value of questions....
- Spring in New England
- Sunday's sermon
- Stop the madness!
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