50 hours and two weeks later . . .

Ahhhh, home sweet home. Seems silly, but since we've spent more time in Dornoch in the last three years than anywhere else, it makes a bit of sense. As much sense as anything in the last few years has. We've been welcomed back with open arms by friends, our comfie flat was waiting for us with all our things we'd left behind, Little Man, our begging blackbird, spotted us right off, and the gorse is in full bloom.

The flights over were uneventful, the best kind. We woke up in Hilo at 7 a.m. on a Sunday morning and knew the next time we'd see a bed was Tuesday night. Everything arrived at the same time in Glasgow, though I always feels I've left part of my brain somewhere over the Atlantic. The train from Glasgow was on time and not crowded, and two friendly faces meeting us at the train station in Tain were the high point of the journey. All told from waking up to lying down was 50 hours. Cat naps on the planes and the train, but no real sleep. A few days of jet lag and here we are two weeks later, firmly entrenched in Dornoch. Reunited with friends. The garden is getting cleaned up. The golf game is getting fine tuned. The lawn bowling is in full swing. Catching up with the evening soaps. Cheese and oatcakes, scones and jam, soup and a crustie, and dinner at Margaret's. Life is good and we are so lucky.