Six People, Four Countries (Two without a Government,) and One Very Nice Tow Truck

You know, I have been trying all morning, make that all day now, to figure out how on earth I can blog about this latest adventure to England. An adventure that hasn't yet quite finished since our lovely old bateau de route is in some garage 100 kilometers from here and until that beautiful beast is back in the fold, I'm not convinced the adventure is over.

How can I blog about that fabulous experience at the American Consulate in Lyon last Wednesday. (Already? Whoa, that went fast!) The appointment where my darling son, the first child of my love match to Hubster, spurts out while I'm signing his passport application,

"I'm not American. I'm British. English British."

How can I blog about our trip to the industrial museum in Mannheim (yes, there were some steam rollers) with it's steam engine train ride that consisted of getting on the train, going out of the train garage, stopping to give us a second to stare at the pouring rain, then reversing itself right back into the museum as fast as you can say, "auf wiedersehen!"

How can I explain in a simple blog how we stumbled upon the mythical restaurant at the end of the universe, hidden off an auto route in Belgium, exactly where no one would have looked for it. A place where neither my English or French got me a piece of bread, but somehow Hubster managed to get us all meatballs and pasta.

How can I limit myself just to a blog to talk about how wonderful and amazing Auntie Doris is. How can I begin to explain the life that this woman has had, the things she's had to deal with, and yet she still remains the most positive person I've ever met.

And how can I tell you about how freaking nightmarish it was to have our bateau break down on the auto route. Trucks and buses whizzing by as we slowed into that teeny tiny bande d'arrêt d'urgence. The vision of carnage that was beginning to swirl in my head...I don't think I've ever been so happy to coast into a rest stop like we did yesterday. Cross your fingers it's nothing serious and we can be happily reunited with the bateau soon.

At this point, Rosie is throwing socks and bottles of day old milk around the hallway. Duty calls at the Birth Control Bed & Breakfast so I must leave you with just these tid bits for now.

God, it's good to be home.