And when I returned to Normal ...

... it wasn't.

We've had a bit of extraordinary living. In the past couple of weeks we've had guests from out of town. Way out of town. From east of here. London. We spent some lovely time together, filling the house with noise and laughter. Then we confused the hell out of the dog and we all left at the same time. They headed to South Carolina and we flew to Indiana. As we surmised, we could not hear the dog's reaction from either place.

We introduced our guests, Debbie and Chriszy (pronounced Kriz'-ee, because a man's name should not rhyme with "sissy") to hard-shelled crabs. We found the crabs in their natural habitat, hiding just beneath a layer of Old Bay seasoning and just above a layer of butcher's paper.

They, in turn, reintroduced us to the delights of droll, self-effacing British humour, refined charm and considerate dignity, and the gift of patience. Patience, we were encouraged to recall, when properly applied to the bounty of many forms of plant life, yields fermentation. This phenomenon can be applied to several types of grain, grapes, and even apples. Whatever else might be said of them in the popular press, for this pursuit of a higher good alone I say, "God bless the French." Even in the Midwest, which is not a noted wine region, we have given them a nod of thanks by gracing the local application of this pursuit with the name "bourbon." Sure, most of us thought it referred to a combination of the "stick-tite" seed pod and a bread casing for hot dogs. But now we have culture and know the word is French. Just as French as duBois county, Indiana--a place pronounced "dew boyz" and is filled with the proud descendants of German pioneers.

Some of our nearby friends were able to meet our English guests. Their impression reinforced ours. We know some very nice people. In both places.