They're not kidding when they say DC is dead in August. I've spent the two short weeks I've been back at work after our vacation mostly reading about Russia and Georgia doing stupid things to each other, marveling at how Olympians can swim/run/flip around in the air several times, and generally doing nothing of any consequence. It helps that The Boss is out of the country, and just about everybody else is on vacation.
I headed out of town again Thursday afternoon -- this time for San Francisco and little Whelan's wedding, which was a ton of fun, and only slightly less debauched than every other Basement Reunion to date. Duringthe Friday night rehearsal dinner -- a nighttime cruise around the Bay -- I was reminded of how much I miss California, but really Northern California. Orange County will always be home, but there's something about San Francisco and the Bay Area that feel so right to me. Maybe it's the people, or the lifestyle, possibly even the weather. (It doesn't take long to be absolutely sick of the swamp that is DC in the summer.) I would love to live up there and be only an hour's plane ride from home, instead of a minimum six-hour trek across country. I'd love to be able to wear a trench coat for the summer evenings, but still walk around in a tank top and skirt during the day. And the Mexican food, oh the Mexican food. Guacamole just ain't the same when you have to ship the avocadoes across country.
But then I remember what I love about DC. The seasons, the excitement, the pleasure of being able to walk anywhere (work, store, National Mall), the culture, the interesting conversations, and the even more interesting jobs I've held since moving there. It feels like home to me now. Especially today as I clean out dusty bookcases and decide which of the CDs I left behind I'm going to sell. I can't make room in my new life for much more of the stuff from my old life.
I don't yet know if Washington is where I'll settle permanently -- somehow I doubt it is -- but it's home for now and I'm grateful for it.