If You Give a Mouse a Cookie

Culture shock fleshed out, I set off in search of Starbucks.

Meet Nadra!  This fine lady prepared the first Starbucks beverage I’d had since September.  There was nothing coincidental about the halo above that head.  Man, was I thankful for her today.

Here it is again.  Ohhh, Starbucks!  How my lipstick has missed adorning your lids!

My peppermint mocha needed a companion.  I set off in search of the breakfast of champions I’d been missing these past few months:

McDonald’s hotcakes.  Yes siree.  

 

I found Bon Qui Qui!  While the dear who whipped up these hotcakes agreed to pose, she didn't seem to be amused by my need to document this momentous meal.

Reunited and it feels so goooood...

Reunited, yes.  But not without a subconscious attempt to incorporate Eastern dining protocol.  I looked up and realized that I was eating my hotcakes with my right hand, sans plastic fork, as though it were naan.  Goes over real well in South Asia; not so much in Chicago.

Rations united, I considered the health of this first Western meal back Stateside to the final Western meal I had before leaving England in September:

Perhaps my priority for nutrition has declined while abroad.

All right.  More like “definitely and beyond justification.”

…Let’s talk about something else.

Even converting back to an American power adapter got me excited!

It’s the little things, really.

I sought out two more conquests for the morning: a fresh-from-press copy of The New York Times, and the closest available alternative to a teasing comb.  (My roots were some kind of flat after those initial 18 hours in the air.)  

After attempting to revive my roots I paced the terminal a bit, coming face-to-face with this globe:

Hard to believe that in 18 hours I had literally gone from the front to the back.   It was a beautiful thing.

Then I flew for a few more hours.   

The heartland was looking great.

Then came Dallas.

For some reason, Dallas felt was colder than Chicago.  I was hurting.  Apparently visibly so.  Teeth chattering, I hopped on a tram to head across the airport.  Two men at the door pointed me past all the other passengers to a seat below this sign:

Hint taken.

I found the proper terminal, but was a bit confused about the gate for the Tallahassee flight.  That was, of course, until I caught sight of a gate occupied by people dressed like this:

Foreboding coat undermined by flip-flops?   In the immortal words of Chantal Kreviazuk, “Feels like home to me."

And close to home I was.  Lunchtime came, so I strolled to Cousin’s BBQ.   I had three words for Cousin’s: 

Come.  To.  Momma.

First there was this.  I jumped for joy just seeing the words in print!

Then came this:

Which, in about two minutes, looked more like this:

Having met my weekly calorie quota in just seven hours Stateside, I retired to the gate and waited for the plane to Tallahassee.

Say, did I ever mention how much I love Tallahassee?

This was the first I saw of the Gulf coast.

I couldn't get over it.  What a marvelous sight!  One view topped it, though:

Downtown Tallahassee, hosting two of my favorite places in the world: my church and the Florida Capitol.  (Sorry for the pink streaks- my iPhone wanted to be included.)

It's good to be home, friends.  Good to be home.

Just one more thing.

Waiting in the Chicago terminal I saw this, too:

Don't forget to thank the Lord for Christmas.  And for breakfast.  And for freedom.

Merry Christmas.