Home again, home again

I've been back in Baltimore for about ten days now, having pulled into town the Thursday before Thanksgiving in the pouring rain. So much for bringing the weather with me like that Crowded House song recommends.

I had just spent a few blissful 80 degree days on Skidaway Island in Savannah with my Uncle Bob and family. My father's brother's wife's brother, Bob may not genetically qualify as my uncle but more than does on every other level. He and my dad were best buddies, and the tales of their bachelor days in Harrisburg with which I am regaled during my stay--stuff my dad conveniently failed to mention to me during his lifetime--only enhance the legend that is Don Conley. (I can feel my mom's eyes roll back in her head as I type this.)

Anyway, I drove north from Savannah listening to a few of Dan Carlin's Hardcore History podcasts (of particular interest: Show #2, where he uses the analogy of Mike Tyson fighting Muhammed Ali to illustrate the East's and West's differing styles of warfare) and then, when I started to get tired, Nirvana's Nevermind, and then, when I realized that I was driving way too fast, Steely Dan's Aja, which is among my favs and never fails to remind me of late winter afternoons in Lewisburg, PA. Snacks were kept to a minimum to prepare me for reentry into my jeans. (#4522: A week in New Orleans will pack 5 to 15 pounds on the unsuspecting visitor.)

Back home, I was presently reunited with a brown dog who at first seemed thrilled to see me but, as I unpacked over the next couple of days, became a bit surly and gave me the cold shoulder for a good 36 to 48 hours. I assume he smelled the assortment of hounds with whom I'd been intimate during my absence, but who can know what goes on in the heart and mind of a brown dog? I told him how good he has it one night last week as he spread-eagled himself to claim 85% of the surface area of my queensize bed, but he was already asleep.