California has worn me quite thin

I've had Jimmy Buffett as an earworm ever since I got home Monday night—well, technically, Tuesday morning—though it wasn't California's fault. There was a problem with air traffic controller staffing at Newark, though I didn't know that until after I got home. I stayed at an airport hotel Sunday night because I was scheduled for an early flight Monday. That flight was cancelled, and I was booked on an afternoon flight instead. Then that flight was cancelled, and I was put on the redeye.

I had a doctor's appointment Tuesday morning, but I wouldn't have wanted a redeye anyway. I logged in to reschedule, and there was only one option, a flight leaving in less than an hour, with a stopover in Austin. I dashed to the airport, made the flight, and got to Austin on time. Where we waited. And waited. Our two-hour layover turned into seven hours, and it was almost two in the morning when we finally landed at Newark.

Not that we were able to disembark; there was no one available to drive the jetway. So we waited some more, and I finally got to bed at four am.

I am starting to understand why people hate to travel. But here's a flower from the garden where I stayed in Berkeley, a really magical place that was maybe, maybe worth all the stress of getting home.