I drove up to visit Meg and Greg for a Friday to Monday trip. Dan has to work at a party tomorrow night in Manhattan, writing 60-Second Novels, and Ice Spice has school, so it's just me. I didn't sleep enough last night and the night before. I was tired and fought to keep my eyes open on part of the 7-hour drive. I didn't get an iced coffee when I had the chance (Starbucks) and then the desperate coffee detour I took on an exit off Route 91 North led me to a small supermarket where the only coffee was in tiramisu or ice cream, no bottled cold brew or hot java, not even a coffee-flavored chocolate bar. I got an extreme dark bar and that caffeine seemed to kick in.
Meg treated us to dinner at the Green Mountain Inn, a fixture on Main Street in Stowe since 1833. It was a generous splurge. I had an ample slice of fork-tender, perfectly seasoned prime rib au jus with baked potato and veg. Little basket of warm bread with foil-wrapped butter pats. Warm apple cider.
Slow comforts. Sitting here in the living room talking. Seeing the beautiful new desk Meg showed me on FaceTime. Presenting the royal house cat, Sami, with a gift of little stuffed toy mice. Being grateful for old friends. Meg and I met at age 18, first night of college.
Good night from a land of beautiful skies and mountains.
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