Michael left us on Monday, but before he did we visited the Ranger's House here in Greenwich, which houses a remarkable and despicable collection of antiquities and Renaissance porcelains and bronzes collected by a diamond merchant from the monies earned from his ill-gotten spoils in South Africa. Gideon was blown away by the ivory miniatures, the reliquaries, and the altar pieces and could not believe that there weren't versions of each piece available for him to take home in the gift shop. Fortunately, there was ice cream (most desperately needed as it is now very hot in London and the miracle of air conditioning has not yet arrived on this island nation), so the disappointment was ameliorated somewhat.

After seeing Michael off for what was to be a brutal 11-hour flight back to LA, we raced off to the Docklands Museum to meet the students who were visiting the slavery exhibit in conjunction with their week on postcolonial London. Well, "race" would not be an accurate term, as the DLR (Docklands Light Railway) was down once again, so we walked under the Thames through the tunnel conveniently built around 1904 to bring workers in to the warehouses that once dominated the east London landscape. The museum was as always a treat, and we were glad we found our way there as their instructor had dropped them off to go drinking, leaving us to once again launch into impromptu tag-team lectures as we led about half of the students through the museum (where the other half went, we had no idea but likely they took a lead from their teacher and found a pub to contemplate the legacy of slavery over a few pints). The students who were with us were lovely and were rewarded for their pains with boxes of Cadbury cakes bestowed on them by museum staff for reasons not entirely clear to anyone (but no one complained). Afterwards, we took a long walk home across the Docklands and back under the Thames and home, loaded down with groceries from the upscale grocery at Canary Wharf, and we feasted on tortellinis and salad at home.

Tuesday we slept in and had a quiet morning at home (not knowing how to do that sitting thing, I took to the streets and walked aimlessly around Greenwich for a couple of miles just to keep my legs busy). We then followed our Pathfinder Beth deeper into the wilds of southeast London to visit Eltham Palace, the childhood haunt of Henry VIII and, more recently, the art deco home of some more very rich people, although these seemed to have earned their fortunes through textiles and used that fortune to support the arts as well as hoard it. As Eli would say after watching way too much Black Adder this trip, "Hurrah for that!" Unfortunately, I forgot to take my meds that morning so by the time the serpentine bus route to Eltham brought us to the Palace doors I was seeing double and having trouble standing up on my own too legs. So I turn it over to B, who remained clear-headed and starry-eyed the whole visit, to tell what we found there: "So, we knew that this would be an art deco palace, but I still sucked in breath when we walked in the huge round central room to discover a room straight from Hollywood 1930s. Eli and Gideon were a little muddled: first, because the curators insisted we put blue cloth slippers over our shoes and second because of the anachronism of the furnishings against their knowledge that Henry VIII spent his childhood there. Historical vertigo (and Eli's literal vertigo . . . recall the serpentine bus described above) was corrected substantially when we found the Medieval Hall . . . this too was reconstructed later, but it was a huge hall with ornate timbers and heated stone floor, but it looked the part. Nonetheless, we all agreed that we wanted to live in the house, especially in Lady Courtauld's boudoir, which we dubbed the "comfy room" with her huge sofa and built in books and leather map. Other highlights included the inset wood pictures of mythical Venice and Sweden that lined the walls of the entrance room, or the gold lacquer animals in the dining hall, not to mention the room kept for the family's pet lemur, Mah Jong. Alas, Jared didn't see much of this, as he was certain he would vomit on all the fine furnishings and was much happier when we turned to the beautiful gardens. There Gideon earnestly began another worksheet hunt and guided us through the grounds until we left J&E lying on the banks of a babbling brook to smell the flowers while Gideon and I collected his hunt reward, chocolate coins (which he kindly shared with his brother)."

Sunday was our last day in the city, with a train back to London at 5:30. The day began as it should, with a trip to Bagpipe's Galore to learn more about Eli's new consuming passion (the fact that the big military tattoo was on at the Castle this weekend meant that every square inch of the city was covered with pipers and marching bands). There we met Bob Hay, who demonstrated the entry instruments for the Great Highland Bagpipe, the practice pipes and, for starters, the practice chanter. He walked Eli through a brief lesson, especially focusing on the aspects of the instrument that will be different from the oboe, and then, when Michael bought the chanter for Eli, he threw in a second chanter for Gideon and me to practice on.

Chanters in hand, we climbed up the neo-classical ridge overlooking Old Town and descended into the orderly Georgian New Town, where we paid our respects to Scott's completely outlandish monument and then visited my old haunt at the National Gallery, one of the most splendid small collections of masterpieces (including several perfect Titians) in Europe. Aside from the disappointment at finding Gaugin's Jacob Wrestling with the Angel out for a paid exhibition, everything was exactly as I left it almost a quarter century ago and it was a real treat to take Beth and the kids through my darlings in the collection. Strange that after all these years it is paintings in a museum that seem to have the biggest hold on my heart, and not the campus of the University at which I studied (which we didn't even bother to visit). After a shockingly horrible meal at the museum cafe (their bacon tastes like haggis), we headed to the Georgian House, a magnificently restored late 18th-century house that was once the grandest in New Town, used to keep up the gorgeous Georgian appearances that eventually and inevitably bankrupted the family who owned it. All good for us, as we can now wander the house and learn about how sugar loaves were broken down, how songbirds were toasted over the fire for a snack over brandy, and stomp sacrilegiously around their grand dining room into which the likes of us never would have been invited. In truth, I love house tours almost as much for such pleasures (I always look to find the story of the family's crushing decline that led the house to be in the public domain) as for the equally divine rewards of imagining myself in a Smollett novel.

After our tour (and after Gideon once again rigorously completed the quiz sheet that he so looks forward to at each of these houses), we wandered a bit further west and into Dean's Village, one of my favorite getaways when I was a young, romantic wanderer of 19. And then it was back to the hotel to pick up our bags and grab a cab (Michael is teaching us how to use these strange, modern contraptions) to the station for our train home. It was a much more modern train than the spit-and-glue car that dragged us north, so we were briefly optimistic that we could get some much-needed sleep on the train ride home. But one of the many be-costumed parties of drunken bachelorettes we had swirved to avoid along Cowgate in Edinburgh entered our car at the last second for their last long round on the ride back to Newcastle. All hopes were dashed when one of them bellowed to everyone and no one: "Is everyone ready to PAH-TAY?" As loud and obnoxious as they were, they were a great source of amusement to us and the Danish family sitting across from us (who truly looked straight out of a Dogma film), especially the one who kept repeating at the top of her lungs to everyone and no one, "I'm a bloke trapped in a woman's body" (this, despite the fact that nothing about "her" body except for her insistence backed up the latter part of her statement). Finally, tired and dirty, we made it back to London, where we just missed the train to Greenwich at London Bridge, at which point Michael had a temper tantrum that led to us all piling into a cab which he most generously insisted on, dropping us grateful and drained at home just before midnight.

This weekend we took the train up to Edinburgh to meet up with about 11 students and to see the Athens of the North (or, as I always thought of it when I lived here 23 years ago, the Reykjavik of the South). Despite my endless tales of freezing rain in July and endless fogs that made night impossible to distinguish from day, it was a sultry weekend and we took advantage of rare blue skies to climb Arthur's Seat, a remarkable piece of topography that lies right at the end of the Royal Mile, between Holyrood Palace and the new Scottish Parliament (when I was a student here, needless to say, the Parliament was just a twinkle in some whacked out nationalists' eyes). The student gamely made the hike with us, despite the fact that many of them were wearing flip-flops. But how can you say no when Gideon and Eli are scampering up the sheer edge of the mountain as fast as they can find someone to give them a boost. The views up top were breathtaking, and in all my many walks up there (including a romantic one 15 years ago with B) I have never seen as far or as clearly. The little ones wanted to keep climbing deeper and deeper into the Scottish countryside, but we had to rein them back in to find dinner. We left the students to their own devices (little suspecting that it would be the last time we would share with most of them on our weekend in Edinburgh) and stumbled out into the city in search of a meal. Without reservations on the week leading up to the Festival, this proved no easy mission, but just when we were starting to despair we found a table at the Empires Cafe on St. Mary's, a fabulous traditional Turkish restaurant that drowned us in jugs of water (as opposed to the usual thimble of water with one ice cube to be rationed over the course of the meal) and endless mezes and pilafs. The combination of fabulous food and desperate hunger (and some great music) made for a perfect end to our first day in the city.

The next day we hiked up to the Castle early in the promised drizzle and fog (both of which were gone by noon in what turned out to be another beautiful day) to get in before the hoards descended upon the place. While waiting Eli followed through on his ambition to sample haggis (despite my many warnings) with the entry-level version, a haggis roll. Despite his early optimism and the surprise to discover that it wasn't immediately disgusting, he soon learned the lesson that so many of us have discovered over the years: one can only eat the stuff if you find a way to shut off your brain while you are eating and not think even one stray thought about what you are eating. Sadly for Eli, he couldn't quite make it, but at least his interest in the stuff was cured once and for all. But by now another addiction had taken hold of the boy: the pipes! (more on that anon)

As the gates prepared to open the students made their way up from their hostel, but to my great surprise (and disappointment) almost all of them decided at the last second not to go in, but two (Kristen and Dylan) joined us on our walking around the Castle grounds. The kids were in heaven, of course, but so was their mom and especially their dad, who got to dress up like a privateer in one of the living history sessions and ham it up for the crowd. Gideon was especially enamored by the giant canon and (of course) the Scottish Crown jewels (I liked the cheesy dioramas portraying Walter Scott recovering the Honors from their secret burial place in the castle). Eli was of course drawn to the site of the Black Dinner, where young James II witnessed the executions of his teenaged idols.

We released our students from our grasp and headed down the Mile toward Holyrood Palace, stopping first for a visit at Gladstone's Land, a 17th-century merchant's house tour (by now, we are full-blown historical house-tour junkies, one and all). After a pleasant lunch (Turkish once again) at a cafe further down the mile, we visited Holyrood and discovered the joys of the audio tour. The boys we in love: as Eli put it, all the information of a tour without the crowds and fat people you couldn't see around. We took a brief break so Gideon could design and create his own Order of the Thistle regalia, and then ended our tour with a walk through the sublime Abbey ruins (ruined, in this case, not by wars with those dastardly English but by some underqualified 18th-century restoration specialists). At the end of this long day of sights and hikes, Gideon still wanted to hike back up Arthur's Seat but the rest of us vetoed this quickly.

We ended the day with some drinks on Michael's balcony at the hotel (he somehow got the luxury suite all to himself, the lucky duck), and then off to an unpromising walkup for what turned out to be the best (and the spiciest) Indian food I have had in a long time, in any country. Life was good, and we were exhausted by the time we got home-- after 10 PM with the sun in those northerly climes just setting.

But now it is late and I will wait till tomorrow to catch up on our last day in Edinburgh and the thrills and spills of the long ride home. As always lot of pics up at http://gallery.me.com/jaredgardner

Another full and frenetic couple of days. Wednesday we slept in as late as we possibly could (which as always was not terribly late, as the workers repairing Darnell House had to start early with their seemingly endless round of banging pieces of scaffolding together between cigarette breaks). We then headed out to St. Paul's, which somehow we had never seen in all our earlier visits to the city. For me, the highlight was the strangely erotic and insanely idealized statue of fat, cranky Sam Johnson, but the views from the top of the dome were equally breathtaking and well worth the 500+ steps to the top. The crypt was packed with thrill seekers apparently dying for a glimpse of Wren's grave (driven no doubt by the fact that others had crowded in ahead of them, inspired in their turn by the crowds that had preceded them... and so on). Especially cool were the effigies that had "survived" the fire of 1666. We then darted across the Millennium Bridge to Tate Modern to meet up with the students who were looking over the modernists and surrealists. One of the students, Jake, decided it would be funny to use fake blood and pretend he had been beaten up on the train coming in. Fortunately, the giggling girls saved Beth from a massive coronary. After a pleasant afternoon in the galleries, we indulged in a conveniently located pizza across from the Globe and then queued up for our groundling tickets for Lear. Eli was so excited about the production I thought he was going to explode, and fortunately the production lived up to his wild fantasies. There is much to be said against being groundlings at the Globe, including the annoying Italian tourists and their cell phones and the drunken louts wandering around groping said annoying Italian tourists. But on great advantage of standing next to the stage for 3 1/2 hours was that we had the closest imaginable view of Cornwall ripping out Gloucester's eyes, roots and all (although in this production, Regan took care of the second and then wiped the blood deliciously all over her face). The kids were in heaven! By the time we finally made it home, it was after midnight and we realized we had been on our feet for over 12 hours. But well worth every minute of it.

Yesterday we had a mellower day to rest up for our trip to Edinburgh this weekend. We took a walk through Greenwich Park to see the Rose Gardens and then went down to visit the Queen's House, which houses some terrific historical portraits and is exhibiting a wonderful show on Dutch and Flemish sea paintings. We then went to Freud's house in North London to meet up with the students, who had been sent there on what we assumed to be was a class-related visit. In hindsight, it was of course predictable that we arrived to find the students wandering the house confused as to why they were there and, in some cases, uncertain who Freud actually was. The instructor for the class was there, but she showed little interest in actually teaching them, so Beth launched into an impromptu lecture on the landing about Freud's importance for literary scholarship and literature's importance for Freud. The students then darted off to catch the opening night's showing of The Dark Knight and we headed back to Greenwich for a lovely dinner at The Hill, a gastro-pub down the block on Royal Hill.

Now, we are on the train to Edinburgh, where we will arrive in around 90 minutes for another weekend full of walks, castles, museums and students. Eli is determined to find some haggis, and I am equally determined (having had my share of dining hall haggis some 23 years ago) never to cast my eye on the stuff again. But despite such brewing conflicts, we are looking forward to another adventure, about which more, anon.

Time to catch up on our peregrinations once again... before we begin yet another crazy day taking us late into the night (more on that in the next update).

On Monday we returned to the British Museum to see the Greeks and Romans. We also visited a remarkable show on American prints from Bellows to Pollock (I had never realized that Pollock began his career as a social realist printmaker!). It was a marvelous show, and Gwathmey and Martin Lewis were real revelations. We then went to visit the Japanese rooms before they threw us out for closing time (damn their eyes!). For old time's sake, we wandered back to the North Sea Restaurant, which was our favorite haunt when we were in London with Michael and Stephen five years ago.

Yesterday, we woke early and worked our way through rushhour to Victoria Station to take the train south to Arundel to visit the castle. It was a beautiful ride through the green and pleasant countryside,after which we got to walk up a river path to town and the castle. We began with the tour of the castle rooms, which was a bizarre combination of historical magic and creepy conspicuous display of wealth and power by the current Duke and Duchess of Norfolk. Eli was especially appalled by the seemingly endless hunting trophies adorning the walls, including a particularly ghoulish case showing a doe being torn apart by a rapacious bird. But it was fascinating to visit a castle that is still very much a home to such people, who graciously "invited" us into their home (for 10 quid each).We paid the extra 2 pounds to visit the bedrooms upstairs and could not help (despite our deep revulsion at ourselves) but wish for an invite to spend the weekend, imagining ourselves lounging around these rooms and laughing at the lower orders.

We then visited the medieval keep, the oldest sections of the castle, which had a terrific set of rooms devoted to the siege of the Castle by the villainous "Roundheads" and the heroic defense thereof by the Catholic Loyalists (I suspect the Duke had some hand in the final copy edits here, proving that history isn't always written by the victors, but it is written by the one who owns the castle). While walking around the top of the original Keep, Beth noticed that several of the windows were closed, to shield visitors from something. At first we assumed it was an offending Protestant Church in the distance, but Beth eventually figured out it was the Family itself, enjoying a quiet afternoon's cricket match on their lawn. In leaning over to gaze on this forbidden site, however, Beth became quickly identified as a potential terrorist by the guard and we had to flee (giggling all the way) to escape his ferocious gaze.

We concluded our afternoon at the Castle with a visit to the gardens, a recent production combining Tudor and modern aesthetics, including a wonderful structure in the style of Inigo Jones' Oberon's palace which he had built for a masque those many moons ago. The gardens were beautiful, and it felt great to be absorbing sun and perfumes in abundance before our return to the city and the soot and smells of evening rushhour. And it was good we had recharged our batteries, because the crush that greeted us on our return to Victoria was truly apocalyptic, culminating in a final stage on the rail back to Greenwich when it seemed actually conceivable that oxygen would run out and the 14,000 bodies crushed into the car would collapse as one. But despite such visions, we made it back alive, and settled in at home for a homemade (with the help of a jar of M&S masala sauce) Indian food and an episode of Black Adder.

Now, time to dress and fuel up for the next adventure...

Michael is here with us and we decided to start his visit off with a trip to Kensington and the Victoria & Albert museum which was divine, as always: fashions, ironwork, silverware, and furniture from every era. We didn't even have a chance to see their magnificent Indian art collection this time, although we hope to return. One of the highlights of the day: Gideon found a new ring (a beautiful enamel horse) to replace the One Ring he lost during our visit to Samuel Johnson's the previous day. We ended the visit with coffee and hot chocolate in the garden, where a Chinese architect, Yung Ho Chang, has installed a remarkable Chinese garden using plastic paving forms.

Leaving the V&A, we walked through Kensington by Harrod's on our way to Hyde Park, and I was struck anew by how very much I hate rich people and the tourists who dote on them. This was our first (and quite possibly our last) visit to the West End, and the money-on-the-hoof frankly turned my stomach. Finally, we made it to the Park and had a brief respite from it all (including a stop in the playground where Eli decided he might now be too old for such things) before coming out into still more decadence on the other side. We made our way to the tube, only to face an awesome crush of Saturday shoppers that almost asphyxiated poor Gideon (even worse than the ill-advised attempt to share the crinoline with his brother in the V&A), but at last we made it back to the relative calm of Greenwich where we dined at a noodle shop and called it a day.

On Sunday, we headed in the opposite direction, and world's apart. To Brick Lane and White Chapel, to join the students and Peter & Justine for a tour of the area and the market. The history of the area is fascinating and for fans, like ourselves, of From Hell Hawksmoor's Church and the haunts of Jack held an especial fascination. Unfortunately, trying to move through the chaos of Brick Lane with 21 students, all of whom are dying to go shopping for "retro" clothes at the many stalls and shops dedicated to their aesthetic, proved almost impossible. One highlight of the day for us was running into the actor who played Master Ford in Merry Wives and having the opportunity to tell him how wonderful he was. And he was.

We then split from the group and the market and wandered down White Chapel, which shows only traces of its former life as the darkest slums in London, now a lively Bangladeshi community. We took a chance on another Indian restaurant, and this time our efforts were rewarded with a marvelous meal, of limited sugar and maximum spice. We ended the day with a visit to the Docklands Museum, which describes in detail the changing life of the city and its maritime trade from Roman Times to the present, where the Docklands is being transformed into a glittering forest of skyscrapers. We had to leave a bit early, as Beth's ulcer was rearing its quite ugly head, but we plan to return. We finished the day with a quiet dinner at home of fish and salad and crashed heavily.

Yesterday, we went to pay our respects to Samuel Johnson's house, which was a real treat: walking his floors, seeing where he wrote the dictionary and the Rambler, imagining his night walks around the city ... and we had a great time getting lost trying to find our way through all the skyscrapers and derelict markets on our way there. Along the way we even accidentally stumbled into Samuel Richardson's grave. We also picked up tickets for two more shows at the Globe later in the visit. And then we came home to wait for Michael's visit!

Today we headed down with the students to be groundlings (a cute britishism for standing for three hours) at the Globe Theatre to see a rowdy and unbelievably fun production of Merry Wives of Windsor--truly the birth of the modern sitcom at its very best. Unlike the production of Richard II we saw there a few years ago, this time, they brought the stage out into the standing crowd with a circular runway, allowing the actors to cavort wildly around and through the audience. It must have been confusing as hell for those snooty aristocrats sitting in their cushy seats above, but for us plebes in the dirt it was awesome. Even the students were delighted, and Eli and Gideon of course were beside themselves. The standing from all those hours was no hardship at all (although I will confess I am feeling it now). Afterwards we went to a session with a couple of the actors from the production who talked about the performance and about the lives of professional actors in London (which turn out, not at all surprising, to be quite hard--all the harder, no doubt, when you are forced to answer questions for an hour after running around like a madman for three hours on stage). To celebrate the afternoon we did the only honorable thing for god and country and visited the gift shop, where the boys found geeky souvenirs beyond their wildest dreams: a Merry Wives shirt for Eli and a Hamlet schoolbag for Gideon. Yes, they will be the trendiest lads on the schoolyard come fall.

We finished off another day by celebrating our own version of Merry Wife (and Husband) with an anniversary dinner at a well-reviewed Indian restaurant in Greenwich. Obviously, in London, stars are accorded to Indian restaurants based on how much sugar they put in the Chicken Tikka Masala--in which case, this particular restaurant was under-rewarded since we had to come home for some cookies just to cut the sugar. Still, despite being quite disappointing (by which I mean, of course, gross), the evening was a blast because we were together, laughing at spending absurd amounts of money on Indian food-shaped molasses and giggling happily all the way home. Where we promptly collapsed and watched the final episode of Black Adder II, clearing the decks for the Georgian Adder to come.

Turns out blogging at the end of a long day of roaming the streets of London and shepherding undergrads through the underground is not half as easy as it appeared when we were contemplating the prospect back in Ohio. So we will try and make up for our long and very busy silence with a compressed recap and do better from here on (yeah, right).

We have been here ten days now, gotten to know the students, been delighted by the students' eagerness for new cultural experiences, been let down by the revelation that for many "new cultural experience" means drinking to excess in a new country-- the familiar cycle of a teacher's life appropriately compressed into a week or so. Greenwich itself is a beautiful, precious place tucked in the midst of some fairly hardscrabble 'burbs to the southeast of the city. Much of our greatest pleasure the first week was in finding the best routes into the city (especially satisying: the 188 bus from Greenwich all the way in to Russell Square), discovering all the grocery stores and the full range of rather impressive prepared foods (turns out packaged food can actually be tasty if you don't have a corn lobby), and of course hitting the museums running.

I suspect there is a museum for every daft obsession known to man in this city. In Greenwich we even have a Fan Museum. In terms of our own daft obsessions, we have already visited the Cartoon Museum (where the boys participated in a workshop with artists from the fabulous new anthology weekly, DFC) and are chomping at the bit to get to the Bank of England Museum. Much of our whirlwind for the past ten days is documented in our photos being faithfully posted (really!) at http://gallery.me.com/jaredgardner, but highlights have included Handel's house, Dicken's house, the Sloane Museum, the National Portrait Gallery, and of course the first of what will surely be several visits to the British Museum where we spent most of our day with the Egyptians (Greeks and Romans next time).

Today was one of the very best days yet (and of course the most exhausting, always the price for a perfect day in London). We met the students at the Greenwich pier at noon with their instructor this week, Pippa Guard (in addition to being a fabulous teacher, also a famous actress), and we took a boat down the Thames to the Tower of London, allowing us to experience what it might have been like to be delivered to Traitor's Gate for the Final Check-in. Once inside the Tower, we split up to devour the many riches of the place, starting with the exhibition of prisoners' graffiti and poems in Beauchamp Tower (my morbid favorites, of course, were the elaborately planned carvings which were left unfinished, no doubt by an unexpectedly early summons to meet with Master Ketch. Then it was off to take Gideon to see his beloved Crown Jewels (we had to go through the line twice so he could take them in from different angles).

Of course the vast majority of the students used their freedoms to escape from the Tower for whatever it is they do (that is, drinking and shopping), but Andrea and Lindsey hung around to meet up with us, and the six of us headed off to Westminster for an organ concert (after quick sandwiches from Tesco on the lawn). The queue of geriatric groupies falsely led us to assume a decorous and courtly affair. Not knowing much about the featured composer, Olivier Messiaen, we had no way of knowing how psychedelic the evening was to be as the organist, Dame Gillian Weir, whirled through Messiaen's meditations on the Holy Trinity, accompanied by Gregorian Chants and (or at least so it appeared from where we were sitting in that magnificent church) the dancing and swirling of the whole edifice. When it was all over, still abuzz with the music ringing throughout the cathedral, we took a stroll through Poet's Corner and paid our respects to James, Auden, Browning and the rest (and of course stopped by to bow to Samuel Johnson and Isaac Newton as well).

All in all a perfect day. Now, time to summon the energy to face yet another one (our anniversary and a visit to the Globe) tomorrow.

On Friday night we head overseas to Greenwich, England for fish n' chips, samosas, field trips, gin and tonics (although with the exchange rate we might just skip the tonic). We'll be updating JBEG news regularly while we are away.

But as we head out the door, we cannot help but think about all the things we will miss being away from Erie Road. Our garden, for instance, which is especially lush this summer after the endless rains. And our dear Mo, who will be in good hands with Jeff & Stephanie and Aman & Danielle, but who we have never been away from so long... Also: friends, Wednesdays at the Laughing Ogre, Saturdays at the farmer's market, music lessons, playing WiiFit, and our blissful new king-sized bed. Still, it is worth all the deprivations (although Mowgli might beg to differ). Time to finish packing...