Keyboard sweat

The east coast is a funny place. Not sure if its "Ha ha" funny, but more "watching the neighbor get it hit in the groin with a tennis ball funny". It would be particularly funny if that actually happened, since my next door neighbor is David Ortiz. There's nothing as funny as seeing a pro ball player getting nailed in the nitters. By a tennis ball that I threw. Sorry, I digress. . .

I grew up in a suburb of Boston called Newton. And now I'm back there, for a visitation with the folks. It's also somewhat convenient that my (now) wife grew up a mile away from my house. And, for the time being, everyone's staying put. There was a whole scare a couple months ago that Stina's folks were moving to NY, but after selling a lot of their worldly possessions in preparation for the move, they thankfully bailed on that idea. We always travel back for the X-mas holidays (being the good jew that I am), and sporadically during the summer. I forget that California is basically a desert. Because I get off the plane, and I start sweating. There's this "humidity", and my body freaks out. So my wrists stick unpleasantly to my laptop, my trackball jumps around a bit, and everything smells of "its about to rain."

Its always good to come back home. We have cable here. And an enormous collection of Robert B Parker and Dick Francis books. A super lazy, hella fat cat that runs away if I look at her. A fabulous grand piano which remains silent unless I'm around. Mom always makes cookies. My childhood friends come over, gather in my basement, eat all the cookies, and try to make a dent in our giant costco soda collection. We pour some on the ground for old times sake.