Better late than never...

It's a cold rainy day here in Peter and after four months of avoiding the scary seventies looking instant coffee machine at the end of the hall, I am surprised to find that it makes a super killer mocha. This is what Russia has done to me. So here I sit, drinking this delightful sludge like liquid, dreaming of home. My Aunt Lissy was just here for a week and we stayed in a lovely little hotel and ate lots of yummy non-fried, non-egg, non-unidentifiable meat-patty-like food. Her first night here I dreampt of my mom. It was nice having that familiar laugh around. We went on lots and lots of adventures, walked until there were holes in our shoes, and got dressed up to see Swan Lake in its Russian element. I want to be a ballerina now. Aunt Lissy was out the door of the hotel at 5:30 yesterday morning at the mercy of a Russian cab driver and I have to say that for the first time since I've been here, I'm a little bit homesick. This morning I sat down for breakfast to the usual circle of fried eggs dripping with oil, and a small part of me gave up inside. I'm tired and I don't want to eat eggs. I want Trader Joes finger food and I want to squeeze the living daylights out of my nephews. But in the mean time I suppose it won't be so bad to see Helsinki, and Stockholm, and Rome, and wherever else my legs and money may take me.