Postcard from San Francisco

So, I've been home for about 4 days. I had half-expected a sense of letdown at this point, but quite the reverse is the case. If anything, there is a sense of exhilaration about life in general. I'm really enjoying the comforts of being home - being able to play the piano whenever the mood takes me, playing with the kitties, seeing friends again, walking around the neighborhood, catching up on my correspondence, going on a reading binge. (What a binge - my goodreads "currently reading" shelf has expanded to 8 books, which is probably something of an underestimate. And, no, I don't have ADD, I just read very fast - for instance, last night I inhaled Carolyn Parkhurst's wonderful "The Dogs of Babel" in a single, 3-hour sitting).

Part of what contributes to this exhilaration is a sense of deep appreciation for what life has given me, as well as a renewed sense of optimism about the future, buoyed by a sense of accomplishment. Because, you know, I did plan and execute my Spanish adventure. And had a blast. Giving me the confidence to imagine, and start to plan, further adventures.

So I think that Buenos Aires in the new year is a definite possibility. Maybe it's time to set up an Argentinian bookshelf on goodreads.