Sleight of Hand

I am home. Unpacked, laundered, and practicing bookouflage- the method of hiding horizontal surfaces with books. The 8 days at Goddard is like a magic trick- first you see it. Then the magician's hand reopens- now you don't.

I'm awake at 6:30am- don't I have to shower and dress for 7:45 breakfast? No. Back to the comfort that is my own bed. This morning, it was half an hour before I remembered I'd have boil my own water for coffee and oatmeal. Dishes are piled in the sink- unwashed. This is not an unusual condition for my kitchen, but I am disappointed there is no headless young torso racking them for the dishwasher while I move off into the words, laughter and musings of my friends.
However, I do have attentive, affectionate glances from Hoover.
In the shower, the cleansing, refining, and beauty potions on the shelves seemed unfamiliar after days of anonymous containers- shampoo? conditioner? moisturizer? sunscreen? I might have used that one to suicide-shave one morning....
And Luci, happy to have me home and to warm my feet at her station on the end of the bed.

It's not very often I get to eat an egg straight from the chicken: no carton, no sterilization, no processing. And yet I am suspicious of this fresh and feisty egg. Instead of tempting my immune system before the residency, I waited until I returned to try them. They are boiling for egg salad- I'm expecting deliciousness.