His birthday today. We all had dinner last night and I left my phone behind, so we had coffee in Stirling today. Eclectic conversation punctuated with acorns tossed, with gusto, by the watching oak. The tree was decked with electric mangoes, incongruous sulphur lighting in a shady bower.

A prodigal caterpillar tractor is sought, together with attendant ploughs. Dublin is a quiet place, they are possibly still there. I can imagine them rattling across acreage again.

Plumbing and resolving paving and trees. We are both hankering for new fruit trees. Kim would like a quandong, I would like a mulberry, Dad really wants a fig, we are all thinking about settling on apricots; gentle and hardy with useful fruit.

Uncles and brothers are house wrangling. Travels are planned. Lindy has sea-horses and her email account has been pwn3d by Nigerians. A wedding and a recovery, friends passing through.

A large blue painting could be coming home after a long vacation. I painted it in highschool, a wildly blue icecave. Not sure if I will find it some wall space or rework the surface with older brushes.

The old harmonium waits in my loungeroom to see if it will be heading east to Lindy, or if Kim will be shopping for rubberbacked linen.

We will meet again at the concert next Sunday, the Mikado is missing a horn and a trumpet who can transpose on the fly. Will be the first time I have gone for some time, Susan is coming too which will be great. A time for many beginnings.

Polly waits, watching. We head home to the huddle of geeks making dummy loads in the back shed. The girls and I find a warm corner and share a book. Comfortable words and resonant themes, furry sanctuary.

Last night I did something I haven't done in ages. I sat at the Café for hours. I read some, got inspired and made something in 3D (which is something I also haven't done in ages). I enjoyed some good conversation and saw friends. It was a lot like going back in time and doing the things I so enjoyed before I got married. Only, this time, the new twist was that my wife was beside me at every moment. And, because of her presence, I ended up doing some new things, too.

We visited with my mom. We went to eat at a very nice Italian restaurant and the food was fantastic. Also, at her behest, we stopped by Dad's gravesite and left a cigar for him. The Baha'i Writings say that for everything in the material world there is a sort of spiritual "mirror" of it in the spiritual world. So I hope that Dad is now smoking the spiritual analog of his favorite brand of cigar and chatting up anyone who will listen about ways to further the Cause of the Baha'i Faith from his spiritual perch. I envision an ethereal work shed, filled with spiritual tools of unfathomable makes, and him inside it, puffing away on his stogie and contemplating how to save the world one soul at a time through service and assistance. Because, y'know, that's what Dad always did. And I like to think that he's still doing it.

It felt good to be home, in so many more ways than one.

Beer! Mermaids! Jazz! The grand Copenhagen birthday-meet of 2009

Having to catch an early flight home, I was first up and out on Sunday morning, and only saw Dimview and our finished Beerometer on the way out. Four entire crates of bottles lined up neatly against the wall is a sobering sight. Or possibly a drunkening one, I forget.

The solo trip back to the airport was uneventful. Unlike the outbound flight, checking in involved standing in one of the most infuriatingly slow-moving queues I'd ever seen, as groups of five people apparently take up to five minutes to process where I can get passed in seconds flat. Hungry, I located some fresh fruit to eat, and then spent all but four of my remaining cash kroners on apple juice. On the flight home I sat in the exact same seat as I had used on the way out, on what might as well have been the exact same Airbus A319. On arrival at Stansted, the inter-terminal transit was so crowded with other people on its first pass that none of us arriving passengers could board it; then, at passport control, each of the twelve separate lines for entry to the United Kingdom was about ten minutes long, in stark contrast to Copenhagen. I guess the UK is just more popular? I ran the gauntlet of faces on the way out. Stansted has a twisty passage thing which you walk down while people who might want to meet you watch you from behind barriers at all sides. It makes you feel terribly famous. As I got on the train home to Winchester I was phoned by the rest of my family who were all in Nottingham celebrating Easter together. I had honestly forgotten all about the holiday.

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