It's amazing how what is supposed to be a wonderful weekend away, in the winter (away from the desert) learning to ski, turns into desperate sadness and longing for England.
How do these things happen?
Thinking about how our friends across the pond spend their winters visiting various ski resorts, enjoying the vast magnificence of snow covered mountains. Oh the awe of it all. We miss those friends, and the loneliness that is our existence here in the states starts to set in. We never feel truly ourselves until step foot back on British soil. To land at Heathrow and enter the Tube makes me feel as though I can breathe again. I am comfortable (in the land of the uptight British, so strange). Tea is the solution to every ill. Breakfast is a delicious affair. Markets and local purveyors are common and normal. A break for tea is expected. Stores close early. Work is a means to an end. Beauty is everywhere in a land with the National Trust owns nearly everything.
Oh to be home again.