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After a heart-stopping jog through the Mexico City airport, a full eleven hours after having arrived, which only goes to show you that what my friend Claudio says is not true, I got on the plane headed for Seattle and was not given another sauteed mushroom sandwich for dinner, as I had been for breakfast. What my friend Claudio says, which as you all now know is not true, as do the fourteen people I had to explain my story to in the Mexico City airport, is that I never lose small pieces of paper.

Ahem, and moving right along. I was the person you saw standing outside last night at the Seattle airport, about 27 hours after setting out on her journey, holding her computer up to her face having a conversation (on skype) with her friend in Seattle’s cellphone voicemail, which went something like this: Hi, I’m um, at the airport, so, I’m here kind of waiting for you. I’m outside, below a sign that says “Aeromexico” and I hope you get this message, because, well, I’m sure you’ll be here soon.” And she was, thank goodness, because did I ever not have a plan B.

This morning I was greeted by my friends’ chipper five year old son who proclaimed, at 7:30 AM, “boy, did you ever sleep in!” Which was true, since in my body it was three hours later, but I did have that brisk jog at the airport yesterday. Have I mentioned that yet?

Today I was treated to one of those extraordinary Seattle days with blue blue skies and sharp shadows and bright sun and whoah, was that ever a lot of coffee and walking exaggerated distances and taking far too many pictures (coming soon, maybe), and a salad with fried tofu on top, and yes, ROOT BEER. Dinner with friends and conversation and Seattle is so cute someone should shrink it down and make it into a postcard. It also smells heavenly. Kind of like Patagonia but greener somehow. And fewer murtilla berries, but there are strawberries growing in the planter by the front door, and would you hold it against me if I told you I ate one on the way in not once but twice today?

I also tried to put on T. Rex claws today, but found that they were too small. Dratted 5 year olds and their tiny wrists. Remind me to tell you about the foam pit that M, A’s awesome husband has built. If I ever get to be a kid again, I want to be born into this family. I wonder at what age Seattleites get to start drinking brewed-at-home pump-driven espresso. Any thoughts?

And now I must say goodnight. Buenas noches. Que duerman bien.