There's No Place Like Home

We arrived home from our 34-day vacation yesterday evening, shortly after eight o’clock. It didn’t take long to recognize that we were back in the real world. Our daughters forgot to open the doggie door, so our beloved pets presented us with welcome home gifts number one and number two right in the middle of our dining room floor. Our girls also left us a sink full of dishes. Plus, the garbage pails have been at the curb since at least Monday, and for all we know, the trash cans might have been on the street the entire month we were away.

When jet lag kicked Kellie and I out of bed at four in the morning, I went down to the kitchen to make some coffee. I couldn’t wait to gulp down a few jumbo cups of American brew instead of having to get my caffeine fix from those teeny tiny cups they ration coffee with in Europe. I ground some fresh beans and then promptly dropped the grinds in the narrow gap between the refrigerator and the adjacent cabinet. After vacuuming up my mess, I discovered that the coffee maker had died. We were about to make a quick 7-Eleven run when we noticed that someone had broken into my Honda by smashing out one of the rear windows. We jumped into Kellie’s Lexus only to find the low fuel and low tire pressure warning lights staring us in the face. The store was less than a mile away, the car has run-flat tires, and we needed caffeine, so we went for it.

Coffee in hand, I proceeded to work my way through a huge stack of unopened mail. Buried in the pile, I found a letter from the Internal Revenue Service notifying me of a $195 penalty because they claim that I failed to file my S corporation tax return on time.

It’s good to be home.