Well ... home, now. 

Never as fun as being away, of course, but it's less than two weeks before my big five week west coast crazy-swing.  Certainly hard to believe I'm actually doing this.  I keep having little paranoic feelings that something will pop up to put a stop to it all - broken leg, or the like, because it's pretty insane and therefore a touch ... surreal.

In the meantime, work is far, far from mind, and in fact I'm afraid I've become sort of enarmored with this 'retired'/'post work' lifestyle.  I still get up every day pretty much with the sunrise, but instead of my energies going into the slog of prepping for work, I stretch, suit up, and head out for a long morning walk, often taking my new best pal Mr Iphone with me.  I now see the world through Instagram eyes.  (Plus, the rays of the rising spring sun tends to make everything look like freaking poetry.)

How on earth will I get back to work?  It seems tragic to me now, as pontificated before, that we waste so much of our ever fleeting time on such endeavors.  Those of us who aren't doctors or teachers or scientists - in other words, us cog-wheels who don't do the type of work the world sort of actually needs for the betterment of humanity, etc  - must we really spend/waste our lives inside climate controlled offices doing the repetitive and the mundane?

Goddamn.


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Drove back on Friday the 13th - damn long, damn tiring drive starting out 5:45am from 23 miles east of Toronto on the 401, taking a sharp right turn south over the Thousand Islands Bridges ...

... ($2.50 toll, US or Cdn), and down 81 to cross the border at ever-barren Watertown, New York ...

...  (less hassle history vs Buffalo), then a quick breakfast as always at Cracker Barrel (which was pushing Dolly Parton's new album like nutty.

Yes, in addition to playing her music - this place plays all country, all the time - they even had the above stand up ad thingy at each and every table.

We then continued south on 81 past signs for towns with names like Pierrepont Manor and Theresa, and my personal favorite, Pulaski, (because it always sounds to me like what this area feels like in January - icy cold and what I'd imagine Warsaw must be like) ... til you hit I-481 to circumvent glorious Syracuse and at last begin heading east on the Thruway (love that they opted not to spell out the word 'through' - were they trying for hip and 'with it'?  I wonder if this was considered controversial.)

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A bit of oddness at the border this time - customs guys walking back and forth outside seemingly between the little customs booths making me think something was up - you almost never see them outside except when specifically rifling through somebody's trunk.  After some standard questioning - ("How do you guys know each other?"  "Penpals" - somehow, even in this massively digitial/online age, this has yet to stump them.)  (My theory is that the second we stray from this true answer, they'd leap - I have a suspicion/paranoia that they have a record of every/all prior border crossings/answers.)

The border is always a bit weird, actually.  The dread feeling begins when the little booths are in sight, and increase as you approach the window, praying this guy or gal is not especially bored today, or particularly pissy/power hungry.  All it takes is one hassling to generate that Pavlovian reaction.  Thankfully it's been a while. 

Our guy did indeed ask me to pop the trunk and snooped around briefly - very weird feeling to hear/see a stranger sticking his paws into your shit and you're supposed to sit there cool and calm.  I always tell myself to look and convey a sense of utter boredom - that it's all a terrific snore.  I figure, were I 'guilty' of anything, I'd be nervous - last thing I'd fucking be was bored.

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So we drove all the way to Amherst, Mass., by way of always wonderful, always bustling Northampton, Mass., (aka 'Noho'). 

Which is about 13 miles north of the Mass Pike.  Ate, as always, at glorious Woodstar - bottled rootbeer and Nantucket sandwich:

Turkey, cheddar, cranberry sauce, granny smith apple, mayo, and dijon on organic country sourdough -  $6.78   

 (Though they did forget the spicy mustard this time ...)

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In Amherst, we stayed at the Allen House Inn ...

... an absolutely gorgeous old BnB just up the road from the center of town, which is such a lovely little place.  Hard to believe it's population of 37,000 somehow absorbs UMass (27,000 students), Hampshire College (1500), and Amherst College (1750). 

For din, we ate at Judie's ...

http://www.judiesrestaurant.com/

Now in it's 35th year, which is damned good, has big, robust popovers, as well as the oftentimes rare dish/old favorite of mine:  angel hair with veggies ...

The place also has cool, locally made arty decor, and even that aqua boomerang pattern in the bathroom that I'd wished I could have used for my kitchen countertops ...

Had I not gone with white beadboard cabinets ... sigh.

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After, we checked out Amherst Books ...

... which inexplicably, opens at every day at 6:30am (WTF??)

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Next morning we drove up 91 for a brief stop in ever-pretty Keene, NH

then over to gorgeous little Peterborough and lunch at historic Peterborough Diner.

http://www.peterboroughdiner.com/index.html

Where they still have a picture of Obama with his arm around a diner employee behind the counter.  Such an awesome and totally genuine little place.  Dian had a nice thick chocolate 'frappe'.  Hee, I love that term - it's so New England.

Then afterwards, right out the door and just a few steps to truly fabulous, gasp-inspiring Toadstool Bookshop

Which don't look like much in the photo, but is a rarity in this day & age - a massive, vibrant and successful independent book store featuring both new and used.  Amazing place with a way cool vibe.

What I can never figure out is, how on earth does a town of only 6200 residents (2010 census) support such a huge bookstore?  And why does this formula not work/no longer work in bigger towns like Portland and Portsmouth, the former of which has approximately ten times the population, the latter more than twice?

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Oh ya, while in Peterborough, I inadvertently bought a new purse ...

After falling in love with the above pattern. 

Never underestimate the bewitching power of cute.

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Speaking of which, and I know this has nothing to do with 'travel' (other than time travel, as it's Downton Abbey) ... but is the below creature not the very picture and definition of loveliness ?

Oh, how the men dressed ... 

Oh, the power and allure of simple coloring ...