"A wise man climbs Fuji. Only a fool climbs it twice."

I paraphrased a very popular saying here in Japan. I know people who have climbed it more than once, and they are indeed foolish. Climbing Mt. Fuji was probably the hardest physical thing I've ever put myself through. The worst part? I did it willingly. There was no one holding a gun to my head, no one bribing me with millions of yen. Nope, I was just chatting with my friends at the Sogo Beer Garden last weekend and the question, "Want to climb Mount Fuji next week?" popped up. And I said yes. I blame the Chu-Hi.

Don't get me wrong, the climb up that mountain, taxing and arduous as it was, ended up being rewarding. But, as I have related to many people since finishing the climb, I think it is a lot like childbirth. During all the pain and agony and the "Why, God, WHY?" moments, all you can think about is the end. And then, once you've reached the end, this magical cloud is lifted and it is beautiful, and somehow your mind is able to erase all the horrifying pain you just inflicted upon your mind and body. However, to get to that point of clarity and appreciation, it takes a bit of recovery, and I don't think I'm quite there yet.

We started our journey at 6am on Saturday morning. Natalie, Cherrelle, Latoyaa, and I were going to take the subway to Shin-Kobe station to catch the bullet train (shinkansen) to Shizuoka. That is where Cherrelle's friend Ashley from Tokyo orientation was living, and where we would take the bus to the 5th station of Fuji. The bullet train is SWEET. When it passes through the station, the force of it knocks you back a little. We had reserved seats, and the first few minutes were spent in awe at how quickly houses and telephone poles wooshed past. We watched as the city center quickly gave way to greener countryside. However, this beautiful view was cut off when more passengers boarded and the local Japanese, unfased by the familiar passing landscape, pulled the shades down. I took that opporunity to try and catch some sleep. The bullet train only took about 2 hours from Kobe to Shizuoka, which is just before Tokyo. Even though it's pricey, it was so worth it!

Once we got to Shizuoka, we met with Ashley and Krystal. It was still pretty early at this point, so we tried to find the only Mexican place in the area, El Pollito. Unfortunately, it was closed (HUGE disappointment), so we settled for trying some Mos Burger. Not quite In n Out, but it did its job of filling my tummy! We then headed back to Ashley's flat to take a nap and rest.

Being at Ashley's made me evermore grateful for my placement in Kobe. Though it was a good little neighborhood, her building was far older and her predecessors (both male) had left her with a bit of a dusty and run down situation. Even though the apartment was huge, about twice the size of mine, there was only AC in one room. The other girls crammed into the AC room to take a nap, and I settled for sweating it out on the tatami floor. After the nap we wandered around downtown Shizuoka for a little bit. I ended up doing something that would later teach me (and my bowels) a great lesson: I ate a beef bowl before climbing Mt. Fuji. I don't want to talk about it.

Then it was time to board the bus to Fujisan. It was a long bus ride, about 2 hours, and I got a bit car sick on the way. Imagine being on a crammed bus that is winding its way quite quickly up a mountain. I had to trade seats with Cherrelle to stick my head out the window. The air felt so amazing! I miss fresh, non-humid mountain air. It was nice and cold, since it was about 8:00 PM at this point. It was a good preview for the chilly weather to come.

We got to the 5th station (about 2400 meters up) and had to wait around about an hour to let our bodies adjust to the altitude. Then we were off. We took the Fujinomiya trail, which I later found out was the "quickest" but steepest route. Sally, the girl on the bus who had organized the trip, had said that the average person made it to the summit in 5 hours. Now, coming from a girl who admitted she never made it to the top and quit at station 7.5, I somehow believed her. I now know that Sally is a liar.

From 5th station to 6th station was a piece of cake. How deceiving. We were high fiving each other and still very genki, not bothering to really take a break. We just collected our stamps for our walking sticks which indicated how high we were climbing. Then we were on our way to 7th station.

Between 6th and 7th station is where I started getting the inkling that this was going to suck. We got to the new 7th station, which was all boarded up. No vending machines, no friendly man to stamp your stick. I plopped down for a minute, took in some of my canned oxygen, whined internally, and then dragged myself up and headed to station 7.5, the old weather station. Along the way the hill got steeper, and the rocks got tricker to climb. You might be wondering how the heck thousands of us were climbing in the dark. It was part head lamp, part blind instinct, and part trusting the complete stranger in front of you to lead you in the right direction. When I finally made it to station 7.5, I had lost 4 of my original companions but picked up 2 more, Kellen and Rebecca. There was a strong sense of comraderie, not only because we were climbing together, but also because they spoke English and it was reassuring for me to know that if I died, they would be able to tell my family. (No, really, that thought crossed my mind.)

Station 7.5 is where things started to break down. I was originally just in my sweat wicking T-shirt and running pants, but now I had on my long sleeve shirt and was debating putting on my fleece. I was experiencing bouts of dizziness and was hitting my oxygen often, maybe too often that what was necessary. I was hoping I didn't break down and cry, or worse, not finish the climb to the 10th station. Everyone got a bit more whiny and my water was starting to run low. But I knew I had to keep going!

The next stretch from 7.5 to 8 was a blur. I think I lost my friends at one point, and started singing a lot of Bon Jovi in my head. Then suddenly I looked up and saw the lights of the 8th station not too far ahead. Better yet, I could smell the bathrooms. Who knew the stench of rotting human waste would be so welcoming? It meant that there was someplace warm and flat for me to sit for a moment. I got to the 8th station and everyone had to be very quiet because that is where people were allowed to buy a spot to sleep. If I had been given more time, I would have gladly bought one of those spots in the warm hut, but, alas, we had to be back down at the bus by 12 noon the next day, and I was still far from the top. I sent a text to Natalie (thank god for cell reception at the stations), finished my water, left Latoyaa in the fetal position, and then headed up to 9th station. Alone.

A few hundred meters past 8th station, I had to pull on Dan's trusty Foothill Water Polo pants. I think these saved me, since my legs had begun shivering. I couldn't tell if it was because of muscle fatigue or cold, but after the pants came on, I was as happy as I could be at that point. Somewhere along the trudging, I stopped and saw in the distance bright orange flashes in the sky. It turns out we were far above the clouds, and I was looking down at a thunderstorm somewhere over Shizuoka. It was amazing! I stood with the Japanese guys next to me, them exclaiming "Sugoi! Sugoi! Sore wa! Sugoi!" and me going "Holy sh*t, that's awesome!" But, back to business. I kept on trudging, trading Bon Jovi for John Mayer's "Who Says," particularly the line that says "Plan a trip to Japan alone." Cuz that was where I was at that point. Alone, on Mt. Fuji. Weird.

It must have been about 3:30Am when I looked to my right and saw the faintest orange on the horizon. Crap, the sun was coming up, and I could see the 9th station about 100 meters away. Which, in Mt.-Fuji-vs.-Erica speak, was about 10 minutes. I hauled as fast as I could, passing some little old lady who wasn't moving and I hoped hadn't died, and made it to the 9th station with a few minutes to spare. I sat myself on the retaining wall, which scared a woman who thought I was going to fall off. I got a thorough Japanese lecture from her, while I kept saying, "Demo, so desu ne! Ee desu! Ee desu!" Man, I wish I spoke better Japanese.

The sunrise was beautiful. It rivaled Haleakala, and I wish my SD card reader hadn't pooped out on me so I could have used my real camera. Instead I relied on my Flip and my iPhone, which took okay shots, but didn't capture how amazing it was to be 3400 meters above the earth and looking down at clouds and villages below. I was so exhausted at this point that as soon as the sun was completely above the horizon, I scurried into the little hut, bought some hot water for my dehydrated ramen bowl, and sat and ate leisurely. I thought for sure I had enough time to make it to the 10th station and back. I started heading to station 10 at around 5:45 AM.

About 15 minutes into my climb, weird things started happening. The Japanese people behind me suddenly started speaking German. I turned around, but they still looked Japanese. I shook it off and kept climbing. But then I started having a crazy thought. Oh my God, they are Germans disguised as Japanese people. And then I started getting really paranoid. Why were they following me? Why wouldn't they pass? What were they saying? It was at that point that I realized Iwas getting dilirious, and that, after nearly 8 hours of straight climbing, I was going crazy and needed to sleep. The sun was starting to heat up the mountain very quickly, so I found a nice "soft" bed of lava rocks, took off my fleece, and laid down. I set my alarm for 10 minutes. 10 minutes would surely give me enough energy and sanity to make it to station 10?

I awoke to the sounds of booming. It sounded familiar. I've heard that before. It was the sound of the blasts detonated when ski patrol was doing avalanche checks in Tahoe. Was it possible they were doing blasts to loosen rocks on Mt. Fuji? No way they would be doing this with so many people! (It turns out it was a weapons test site a few kilometers from the base of the mountain.) In my paranoia, I jumped up, and checked my clock to realize I had slept over 40 minutes. Crap! There might not be time to make it to 10th station if I wanted to start heading back by 7:00.

I could see the 10th station not too far away. Or, what I thought was the 10th station. Turns out, it was station 9.5. I got to the point where the trail narrowed to next to nothing, and everyone was literally at a standstill. There was no way I would be able to make it to the top (or what I thought was the top), get my stamp, and be able to run down the mountain. I'd heard this line could take over an hour. 

I made the decision at 6:45 to turn around. Sad face. I wanted that 10th station stamp so badly! But I knew it wasn't worth getting abandoned on Mt. Fuji, so I started down.

Nobody told me the descent would be so horrible. It was so much worse than going up. If I had known that making my way down the trail would hurt so badly, I would have traded it in for climbing up for twice the distance that I already covered! My toes were constantly jamming into the ends of my hiking boots, and my bad knee started to buckle at parts. Plus, my body was so tired that I would plant my stick, lose my footing, and stumble down a bunch of rocks before I was able to re plant my stick. 

It was awful. I don't want to have to relive it.

Almost to station 7.5, I met up with Krystal and Natalie. They had made it up to the top, but they didn't look too happy. In fact, non of the gaijin faces I saw looked happy. 

The rest of the climb down was a long torturous journey. My mind chooses to blank it out because of how horrible it was!

In the end, I made it back to 5th station by 11:20. Plenty of time to stretch and buy omiyage. I had wished I waited in that line to get to that next station, but when I was told that wasn't even the top, I realized at this point I could have no regrets.

Once we got on the bus, I almost immediately passed out. It was a dreamless sleep, and I probably could have slept for 12 hours if we didn't have to disembark to switch to the shinkansen. I was filthy, tired, and sore, and the only thing I could think about was my bed in Kobe. Which was still almost 3 hours away!

So, I would recommend climbing Mt. Fuji to anyone who wants a good story to tell, anyone who likes to earn bragging rights, and those masochists out there who think it's fun to push your body's limits. However, if you just want to see the sunrise, I recommend sitting on the beach with a morning beer and dig your toes into the sand. That being said, I am probably a fool for already considering going again. This time, though, I would stop at the 7th station to rest and I would pack much more water. I would also make sure a bus isn't going to leave me stranded if I want to reach the summit.

You got me, Fuji. You got me.

 

 

If you can name where the above quote came from, I will give you ￥100 when I get home. That's more than a whole dollar!

This quote came to mind this morning when I put on my flowy sleeveless top, because I didn't want to sweat through my cardigan before I even arrived at work... again. I got many stares from the capped-sleeved women on the Ladies-only train car, but they could have been staring at the giant REI backpack I have strapped on my back (they favor tote bags and briefcases, even if it screws up your alignment). But it is hot, and I will take off my cardigan while waiting for the train, dammit! And even though the train car is air conditioned, I will keep it off until I walk onto my campus!

Right now the Bay Area is experiencing a heat wave (from the looks of things on my Facebook feed, it seems as though people think the Apocalypse is coming), but I imagine people are happily sitting in their air conditioned buildings and wearing shorts and tank tops as they please. They can probably also wear the giant sunglasses I love so much. (Here you are looked at kind of funny, since everyone carries a parasol.) As for me? I think my wrists are developing carpal tunnel syndrome from all the fanning I have to do. Not sure how well my Japanese detergent will be at getting out all these sweat stains, too.

Grrr, Japan. Grrrr.

The Japanese are not big on PDA. It is rare to find a couple even holding hands, and I don’t think I’ve seen anything past that. I know that if Dan were here I’d probably put my arms around him out of habit, and then have to quickly retract for fear of making myself look like some kind of floozy. Usually the couples who dare touch in public are very young, and there is a timidity about their touching that suggests their awareness of the taboo act.

 

But this morning I saw the sweetest thing.

 

The couple was elderly, probably late 60s or early 70’s. The man was looking dapper despite his hunched back, with his striped shirt tucked into his pressed trousers. His wife (I assume it is his wife) wore a hot pink shirt (grandmas can get away with anything) and white pants and this rocking white studded purse. She was a little geriatric hottie! But the best part is the ease in which they held each others’ hands. Her little hand was curled inside his bigger one, and just as I was thinking “They must really be in love,” he sweetly looked down at her and delicately plucked something off the shoulder of her shirt. She looked up at him and smiled, and they stood there waiting at the crosswalk, hand-in-hand, grinning at one another like two school kids in love.

 

koibito.

I have met a new friend and he is awesome. I hope he doesn’t mind that I talk about him. His name is Andy, and not only is he American, he is an American chef. Which means that his love for food and things that taste amazing indubitably surpasses mine. I felt like I was on my own mini version of Eat Pray Love when we went to go find some Indian Food in Sannomiya last night. Andy had gotten lost a previous week and found this amazing little alley filled with smells of deliciousness wafting through the doors of the tiniest restaurants and cafes hidden underground. We went to this Indian place whose name I wish I wrote down. It is still surreal to see non-Japanese, non-English speakers speaking Japanese. The staff of two were Indian, which was promising for our palettes that were craving buttery naan and lemony tandoori chicken. We definitely weren’t disappointed. Save for the amazingly, indescribably delicious feast I had at Dosa on Fillmore with Dan (my mouth is watering just remembering it all), this was the best Indian food I ever had. The curry was not too curry-y, if that makes sense, and the tandoori chicken is something I think I will crave fortnightly, as though Colonel Sanders himself added his addictive chemical. Definitely worth it, and if you come visit me in Kobe, I promise to bring you there!

After that, we went the Kobe/Hyogo welcome party on top of the SOGO building. This place is amazing (if you got a table, which they wouldn’t let us have because we were the obnoxious gaijin group). The view was pretty awesome, with the mountains in the background and lights strung up. It was a good time, becoming a Bullmoose and talking to a few new JETs I hadn’t met yet. They were playing some Gatsby-type music that made me feel like I needed my long cigarette holder and my super cool hat.

However… my downfall was the chu-hi. Oh dear. Let’s just say that there was already booze in what was dispensed from the machine (which is not what I was inititally told), so my adding 2 ladlefuls of sochu was completely unncessessary. I will spare you the details, but my night ended with Latoyaa handing me an emergency barf bag, me flopping over on a lady’s lap on the train, and bedtime tears. Not pretty.

The crazy thing about Japan? You don’t get hangovers here! Not sure what it is they put in their alcohol, but somehow I manage to wake up almost as fresh as a daisy. Maybe as fresh as a dandelion, at worst.

I love Japan.

Today was the first day of Summer School. It is more like summer camp, but this being Japan, we have to make fun things sound like work. J It is basically a place for junior high school students from all over Kobe to come to the Gaidai (foreign studies?) school at Kobe University. We were broken up into different rooms with different themes. I got placed in the Wild West Ecology room, which really makes no sense considering we were going to ask the kids to build guns--, yes GUNS—out of chopsticks (hashi). I kind of understand what that has to do with the wild west (I think that concept was lost on the kids… a bunch of gaijin halfheartedly wearing bandanas and cheap ¥100 foam cowboy hats hardly defines “wild west.” As for the ecology aspect, well… there really is no explanation for that.

I was half dreading this day because I didn’t know what to expect. However, as I have learned during my short time with JET, the majority of the time you will have no idea what is going on or what to expect, but don’t worry, it will all work out in the end.

When we met the kids, they weren’t anything but delightful. If we were in America, the prospect of teaching a child how to make a rubber band gun in class would be absolutely inappropriate and even offensive given the gang warfare within the population in which I used to teach. However, we only had to announce to the kids once, “Do not point your gun at your friend, or we will take it away.” And just like that, they listened. ALL OF THEM. If just half of an American classroom full of 12-14 year olds obeyed this simple instruction, it would be a miracle. I think I’m going to really like working here!

The students’ English abilities ranged from proficient to the point of being vulgar (“This is f*cking gorgeous!”) to almost none at all (“Yes,” when asked, “What is your name.”), but we managed to show all the kids an awesome time regardless of language barriers. Once the kids were able to build the guns--- which was a feat the grown ALTs struggled with during practice, but the kids and their nimble fingers were able to do very quickly--- we moved on to target practice. If the fun I had shooting rubber bands at recycled meat trays is any indication, my year teaching in Japan is going to kick a lot of oshiri.

 

Yippykyay.

I’m very excited to be seeing the beach in Kobe for the first time. Finally! After basking in the sweltering heat, it’s about time we get to finally do something hot weather-related. I am sure I will be posting some pics of it soon…

Seriously, giant hill? Or should I say, tiny mountain? I cannot fathom climbing you three times a week. If this shall continue, I will need to buy proper crampons and perhaps hire a sherpa for guidance and a llama to carry my pack.

I can only imagine what kind of torment climbing you will be like in the winter time.

I didn’t think I’d need to bring my asthma inhaler with me to Japan, but, then again, no one ever told me my school was at the top of the Mt. Fuji.

And damn you for making me sweat more than I’ve ever sweat in total in my entire life. Didn’t anyone tell you that it is unladylike to show up to your second day of work with your blouse thoroughly soaked with perspiration?

You have gotten me this week, tiny mountain. But now that I know what feats of strength are needed to scale you, I will slay you in no time.

Today, I am 28 1/2. Yet, I feel like I am 5, starting kindergarten. Well, scratch that. When I was 5, I remember being really stoked about my Hello Kitty lunchbox and being in awe of all the colorful things in the room, and giddy that I was wearing the same plaid jumper as all the other girls in class. So it was more like when I was 6, starting 1st grade. Because, that is when I already sort of knew what starting school was about, but I was nervous because I had just gotten used to the routine of Kindergarten and would now have to start from scratch with a new teacher and possibly some new friends.

 

The biggest difference between then and now, aside from the fact that I am wearing wedge heels and my Hello Kitty lunchbox has been traded in for some onigiri, is that I am starting over in not just a different location, but with an entirely different language.

 

Thank god for Kobayashi-sensei!

 

My daily commute will be about an hour and fifteen minutes. This does not include walking up the big hill leading up to the school, which I didn’t have to do today because my vice principal (kyoto sensei) was  kind enough to pick me up in his car. The ascent felt like it was at an 80 degree angle. It is probably only about 300 yards, but they are the steepest 300 yards I can imagine. I don’t think I’ve ever had to walk a hill that steep in San Francisco before!

 

The beauty of having a school this high up in the hills is twofold: the mansions surrounding the school grounds indicate that many of these kids will be upper class (and therefore presumably better behaved, fingers crossed), and the view from most of the school is incredible. You can see most of the city, including the boats on the harbor, and a couple bridges. Hopefully I will not take this for granted and I can appreciate how lucky I am every day!

 

I was nervous about meeting the staff and thought I would be really bowled over with the hustle and bustle of everything, even though it is still summer and less busy than normal. Luckily most people in Japan are observing Bon, which is like the Japanese version of Day of the Dead, so there isn’t a whole lot of overwhelming activity, and those teachers that elected not to take the day off and return to their home city are very casually hanging out and are very friendly and willing to put me at ease.

 

Still, sharing a staff room as they typically do in Japan will take a lot of getting used to, as well as looking up at the whiteboard and seeing things written in Kanji. I have to use the handy dandy guide that our sampai Kevin made for us to decipher to important events that may be mentioned on the daily schedule.

 

Kobayashi-sensei took me around the school and introduced me to some of the kids. I have to keep reminding myself that in the US these kids would be 7th-9th graders, meaning around 12-15 years old. It’s hard to remember when the kids are still so small and cute! People weren’t kidding when they said that Japanese kids were more immature than what I’d be used to. It’s definitely not a bad thing. There is an innocence to the girls I met that would have made me think they were still sweet 3rd or 4th graders! Kobayashi made them use their English on me, and not only were they excited to do so, but they also just seemed excited to be standing next to me. I hope all of the students there are like that!

 

I am only here for half a day (the phone people are coming to my apartment to set up my landline), so it will be a nice transition.

 

More tomorrow…

A bit of trivia about me: I love HGTV. I love flipping through home décor catalogs and mentally building my future house. I can play Sims for hours straight just so I can build and rebuild and redecorate a Sim house. I used to draw what I thought Jessica and Elizabeth Wakefield’s rooms might look like.

 

So, it is no surprise that places like Ikea make me giddy. I feel like exploding with excitement when I go to Ikea, but I continually impress myself with the amount of composure I exhibit when I am there.

 

When I realized the Ikea was pretty far from Gakuentoshi, I was a bit bummed, but was still willing to go there so I could buy some decorative things to make my flat feel more like me. Then, I heard about a little slice of nirvana called Nitori. Not only was it cheaper than Ikea, but it was within walking distance. (Not to mention, it is very close to a Yamada Denki.)

 

I had to practice a lot of restraint in order to not buy out the entire store. I picked up new sheets (good-bye daisy duvet!), new curtains (Blackout! I’ve foiled you, sun!), a lamp (mom and dad would be proud), and new rugs for the bathroom (I do love snowflakes, but it is the middle of summer…). No doubt I will be going back for more lighting (have I mentioned the FLOURESCENT glare that makes everything look slightly zombiefied?) and maybe some more decorative things to hang on the walls.

 

Studio, sweet studio has been upgraded to “temporary home, sweet temporary home.”

I am finally in my apartment in Kobe! I’m so excited that I finally have a place to call home. Even though my predecessor sent me pictures of what it would look like, I had pieced it in my mind a little differently. It’s about the size I expected (REALLY small), but it has everything I could possible need. I am super lucky to have air conditioning, too! I just had a senior JET pop in with a welcome package, and right from the front door she exclaimed, “OH, you have AC!” So I’m already feeling pretty lucky.

 

We left for the Haneda airport in Tokyo at around 9:00 this morning (it was supposed to be 8:45, but guess who held up the group because she forgot her suit in the hotel room closet and then took the slow elevator back down to the lobby?). I learned that flying is much cheaper than taking a train (25,000 yen), and much faster than taking a bus  (8 hours), which is good to know for future travels to Tokyo. I of course slept the entire flight to Kobe, waking up just in time to catch our decent into the airport. Holy crap, this city is beautiful! It’s on a port so I could see so many boats, but the mountains are also right there, and it is so green! Very similar to Seattle. We had to drive through this little area called Port Island, which felt very industrial. We passed an Ikea, which was familiar and I made a mental note to remember where it was in case I ever had a hankering for some Swedish meatballs and poorly constructed furniture.

 

Our first stop was to the KEC, the Kobe Education Center, where I have a feeling we will be going to a lot. It is our official contracting organization (or “organisation,” as the fancy-pants people with non-American accents spell it). It took FOREVER to get all the paperwork done, and I started getting really antsy. We had to fill out stuff for our bank accounts, our visas, beneficiaries, and tax information. When we were finally done with paperwork and pretending to process the overwhelming amount of information that was thrown at us concerning the upcoming weeks, I got to meet my OTE, who is basically my sensei, my guru, my in-case-of-emergency-break-glass axe that will be taking care of me at my base school. All the OTEs came to the KEC to pick up their charges and take them to their apartments and help then set up their utilities. I have the luck of being one of the first to bow and say “Hajimemashite” to my OTE. His name is Kobayashi-Sensei, and he is the most ridiculously adorable little man ever.

 

Kobayashi-Sensei is equal parts revered maharishi and Toadstool come to life, and I say that with the utmost respect. The belted khaki pants pulled just a few inches higher than they should be, the tucked in black polo shirt, the carefully combed dark hair, and the way he blinks hard when he’s trying to think of the right word just screams of my dad, I and I immediately love him and want to give him a giant hug. He earns another mental hug from me when, in the cab after struggling to get my hundreds of pounds of baggage into the boot of the taxi, he breaks into Tony Bennett’s “I Left my Heart in San Francisco” when I tell him where I am from. We have a pretty easy conversation during the 20 minute+ ride to Gakuentoshi, much of which was taken over by our shared love of baseball and his explanation of how loved Ichiro is in Kobe. As we bump along in the taxi, the busy city center opened up to amazingly green rolling hills that sloped down to the bay. I was amazed that I was in Japan; if I didn’t know better, I’d say we were driving up the West Coast. As we approached Gakuen, I was again in awe of how many trees there were, and pulling into the apartment complex I was struck by how similar the road looked to San Ramon’s Bollinger exit. It was nuts!

 

Now I am here, more than ready to unpack (also way more than ready to replace this blue daisy-covered duvet with something more subtle). We have a lot to do, and I know there is a LOT more I will have to say.

 

I am not quite ready to say “home sweet home,” but at the very least I can say “studio sweet studio.”

L