Picking Up the Towels

       Home after an escorted tour is a shock to my recently totally-organized-itineraried-self.  Suddenly I'm responsible for making my own coffee (thank goodness for Keurig) and preparing my own meals (I do have some bread).  Now I have to figure out where I'm going, how I'm getting there, and what I'm there to see and do.  The suitcase is lying open and the contents are spilled all over the living room, the kitchen, the bathroom... How did I get so many brochures, booklets, maps, and guides?  More stuff for the kids* to throw away, someday!  I put the treasures away - the fridge magnet has been squeezed into a spot, the key chain into the box of others (*see above comment on kids) , the sweater and the scarf into the closet, the jewelry (I hardly ever wear it anymore but had to have it and besides it was 3 for 2!) on the dresser in the boxes.  Next will be editing the photos, so many photos - thank heavens for digital. 
       Gone are the schedules, the hurrying, the bus seat rotations, the queuing, the check-ins and check-outs, the sites, the views, the experiences.  Gone, too, are the extra early risings, the very late nights,  the Guinness and Murphy's, the packing and re-packing, different bedrooms every night, and best of all, gone forever is that foursome from New Jersey! 
       I'm getting hungry. Ah, the phone rings, it's my sister - can I come over for a barbecue later?  YYYYES!  I'm rescued from total re-entry for the moment.  Better take a shower.  And then, of course, I'll have to pick up the towels...

       This is from the hotel in Killarney. Sure looks like the entry hall in my house - ok, so, I don't actually have an entry hall. This is the one I thought I'd have when I planned, at age 7, to be a princess.