Last week we went back to Kentucky for a very special wedding.
Paul officiated, Tiny played a starring role.
It was absolutely beautiful, and a great party.
I was only in Kentucky for about 48 hours, not long enough to do much except wedding. Post-wedding we left our terror in a tutu with Opa and Nana and headed, just the two of us, to one of my MOST FAVORITE places. NYC.
I lived in New York for a couple of months after graduating college. I have very fond memories of my time there. Weird things make me nostalgic…the sound of squealing train brakes, navigating the crowds in Penn Station, even the smell of the subway gives me little excited shivers. I feel like every time you step out your door it’s a mini-adventure. I love New York.
Paul had never been. So we went all over.
We even took the train into New Jersey so Paul could say he’d been to that tourist trap (aka we went to my college reunion.)
Spring in New York is awesome. The park is awesome. Everyone is so happy to be back outside. Sidewalk cafes are open. IT IS AWESOME.
But for some reason, this time around, a lot of the old heartstrings weren’t pulled the same way they usually are. Maybe it’s because Paul was with me, maybe I’m getting old and my sense of adventure is dwindling, maybe it’s that those days a getting further away, the memories a little fuzzier.
When we got back on a Sunday there was the normal post-vacation hangover and sense of dread for the upcoming work week.
But our first night home I noticed, for the first time, how quiet our street is. When I opened the windows of the house, the smell of basil and lemon blossoms wafted in. I didn’t even curse when, at 2am, I tripped on the training toilet sitting on the floor of our bathroom.
New York is awesome. Kentucky is beautiful. But sometimes there’s just something about coming home.