Blame it on the jet lag

A few weeks ago we had some friends for dinner and, as usual, I was rushing around like the nervous hostess that I am. I grabbed an opened bottle of red wine out of the fridge and half set it on the counter. The half that wasn't quite on the counter won, and it tipped over. It was one of those Nooooooooo moments as I watched it fall to the kitchen floor. It didn't break. It bounced. Another reason to love my funky blue vinyl floor.

Today's Nooooooooo moment didn't end as well. At my first stab back at housecleaning since vacation, the vase wobbled, then it bobbled, but it didn't bounce. Not even a little.

They don't call it hardwood for nothing.

On the topic of not bouncing back, I'm having some serious vacation withdrawals. As our friends continue there in a nasty heatwave, I can't get my mind back in gear here. I'm missing that little village and the "lessness" that is Romania. One way of simplifying our life would be by breaking everything, but a garage sale of the excess may be more productive. So, a self imposed ban on housework until my jet lag is gone for good. How long can I milk this?

Wishing I could send the Delta Breeze to Jesse, but these little memories will have to suffice.

• You can’t feed polenta to a turtle.
• Lord, curse my enemies with only one highlighter.
• Hurry up, write your note, I’ve got a horse on my tail.
• Rasuceni has a website? It doesn''t even have paved roads.
• You could spend a whole day just visiting the watermelon people.
• Why do we always assume it was the guy who stepped in the horse poop?