For as long as I can remember, I have cleaned my room before going on vacation, and well...it's done. I've even vacuumed the blades on my ceiling fan, and there is no trace of dust except maybe behind one closet door and in the closets (which are in desperate need of cleaning themselves). It's always nice to come home to a clean bedroom (and clean sheets!), but thinking about it, it's sort of a strange ritual. Oh well. It at least means that my room is clean.

Everything is laid out on my bed, a few things already in my suitcase. I'm packing lightly, as I always do for overseas travel. Rarely do I travel with more than a small rolling suitcase, a bag of goodies for the plane (journal, book, food), a pillow, and a camera, with extra bags to pack purchases. Trying to fit everything in coming back is always a challenge, but there are all sorts of rolling and folding techniques. It's a talent that we've acquired, I think.

And so I'm off to France tomorrow, bright and early (since we have to drive to Atlanta first). There's a possibility that you'll hear from me while I'm there, depending on how convenient the hotspots are in Paris; Rainier's bringing along his laptop. Otherwise, there are always postcards to look forward to, or else hundreds of pictures when I get back. We'll just have to see.

In the event that you don't hear from me, I'll be back the thirteenth.

And on that note, it's back to packing. My excitement cannot be contained.