Two Songs

For these holidays, I'll let John Lennon speak because he is ever so much more eloquent:



And:

Home, Sweet Home

The best laid plans of a blogger hoping to write while at her parents' home during the holidays were all thwarted by a three year old hunting monsters.

I was the monster. "Rrrraaaawrrr!"

Don't worry. He's not afraid of monsters. He is afraid of beybots. I still don't know what a beybot is. Neither do his parents. From what I gathered, they lurk outside of bedroom windows. Their favorite lurking time is bedtime. They also stand on their hind feet, bear their teeth, raise their arms in the air and say "Rrrraaaawrrr!" Oh, and they are metallic. Maybe. And blue. Or green. Mostly, they are bad, and very very real.

Despite the beybots, I arrived home in one piece. Yesterday, that was not looking as if it would be such a certainty. Remember, I have jumped out of a plane, looked down the wrong end of a pistol, and ridden in traffic with my grandmother behind the wheel. Still, I beleive that yesterday was, in fact, the most frightening day of my life. Suffice to say that, when travelling across country in a moving van, taking a short sightseeing detour up Lookout Mountain is not a wise idea.

More on that later. Right now, I want to enjoy a nice drink, set up the antiques that caused me to be driving that moving van in the first place, and savor the fact that, for the first time in many a year, I have said "I have arrived home" and meant the place that I actually live.